


The Ship of Dreams

by CharlotteV



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BUT there is also a happy (alternate) endin because I just can't handle that, Background Scisaac, Human AU, Human Sterek, Jack!Stiles, M/M, Rose!Derek, Teen Wolf, Teen Wolf AU, Teen Wolf Crossover Titanic, Titanic - Freeform, Titanic AU, background Lydia/Jackson, obviously there is a death, sterek, sterek au, yes I changed a couple of things because...come on guys, yes it's a lot like the movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 06:13:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 45,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlotteV/pseuds/CharlotteV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles Stilinksi was just looking for his next greatest adventure, risking everything in a game of life to get aboard the Titanic to go home. He wasn't sure where he would be after that. Washington, Maine, Colorado?  Little did he know the next adventure he went on would be a lot closer to his heart...</p><p>Derek Hale DeWitt was just looking for a way to breathe again, to not feel the ever constant darkness around his heart. Despite fighting it, he can't help what a certain boy in third class does to him, and he wonders if it's worth it just to let fate run it's course...</p><p>Or, the one where our favorite couple was on the Titanic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So...tumblr did this to me, go figure. I think tumblr leads a lot of us here, honestly.
> 
> If it's anyone good, I'd appreciate knowing ^^ otherwise just enjoy. 
> 
> There is an **alternate ending** with rainbows and butterflies and everything good in the world, so if that was the way you want to go skip the prologue and read from Chapter 1. Thanks!
> 
> If you would like to listen to the soundtrack while you read you can find that here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aAA9tShl58A  
> ***************************************************************************************************************

_June 5th, 1990_

The Hale house, which sat on South 6th Boulevard, was a large one, one that would have been passed down through generations if it hadn't burnt to the ground just thirty years shy of a century ago. It'd been rebuilt from it's original glory, all white walls and high windows and thick blood red curtains. It wasn't unusual for the neighbors to whisper behind their hands, wonder what it looked like inside, but truth be told...there was no magic behind the doors.

The home was bare, it always had been. Sure, furniture lined the place, rugs covered the pricey wooden floors, new television sets gathered around. Not a thing was out of place, but not a thing truly belonged either. There were no personal items. No frames on the walls, no trinkets on the floor, and long ago had the children gone.

Claudia Hale walked up the attic steps carefully, a frown marring her pretty features as she ducked inside the low roofed room. She sighed to herself at the image before her, an old man with his shoulders drawn down, gray head dropped, a cardboard box in his hands. “Daddy...”

She shook her head softly as she crossed the room, gently taking the box away. Her father didn't look up at her, not even when she took both of his much larger hands in her own. “I wish you wouldn't push yourself,” she whispered, trying to duck her head to catch his gaze, but he wouldn't allow it.

Claudia's father had once been a powerful man, in stature and in name. She could remember each and every story that had ever fallen from her mother's lips about him, and she could recall how he'd been when she was just a child. Tall, he'd stood around six foot, broad shouldered, with a head of thick black hair and a jaw covered in scruff. 

Derek Hale was one of the most intimidating men in the world, never speaking above the softest of tones but always getting his point across, wider than men half his age, with hard eyes and a mouth that never smiled. Claudia had never even realized he was old until sickness settled in his bones, taking the color from his skin and from his hair, pulling muscle tone and sustenance from his body, creating countless wrinkles and a weight on his shoulders he could no longer bear.

Her father looked at her slowly, with the same emerald gaze he had passed onto her. It didn't matter to Claudia that she had never seen him truly smile, it didn't matter that she had never heard him laugh, because she knew she was loved from the look in those eyes. She knew that she was the apple of his life, his whole world, and that was good enough for her.

She smiled at him, squeezing his shaking hands tightly in her own before she walked him to a dusty rocking chair in the corner. It squealed in protest when the old man sat, so did his bones, she knew. When Claudia knelt in front of him, brushing her thumbs over his knuckles, she thought of how much she was going to miss him...but he was ready to go. He would miss her too, but after everything life had done to him he deserved to be free.

Claudia leaned forward, pressing her soft lips to the sandpaper skin of his forehead. “Let me do it, alright?” The only response she got was a huff of annoyance, one that she couldn't help but smile fondly at as she stood again, facing the dark room. “Now, which boxes go to the charity?”

He waved absently towards the boxes piled in the corner, all of them neatly stacked on the other, covered in enough dust she could draw finger paintings in them if she wanted. Claudia stepped forward slowly, wiping her thumb over the numbers written on the first one she saw. 1915. Long before she was born, her father would have been twenty-three...his miracle of an accident child hadn't been born until twenty-seven years later.

“Claudia...go through them first...” Derek spoke up, a once charming mumble now something muddled by age and wear. The girl looked over her shoulder, nodding once at her father before carefully beginning to pull boxes down. For the first time in her life she felt like one of the nosy neighbors standing in front of her childhood home, whispering and wondering. Her father, who had always been so secretive, was trusting her with a task involving his past. She wasn't sure how to handle that. She wasn't sure what to say.

In the end, Claudia didn't say anything. She was a Hale, after all. Box after box she pulled down, all marked decades before her birth. She ended up on the floor, surrounded by piles, going through one after another, occasionally glancing at her ever silent father. She sorted through what he nodded to get rid of, and what he shook his head to keep. Some of it wasn't worth the auction, some of it was.

Claudia felt like she'd stepped straight into the past. There were crystal goblets and fine silver, what was left of any family jewels that hadn’t already been passed down or donated or auctioned. Some artifacts had HDW inscribed in them, which Claudia didn't know stood for Hale-DeWitt, heirlooms that Derek hadn’t allowed anyone to touch or see until now, including himself.

At this thought, a tear escaped from the corner of Claudia's eye, knowing once more just how close her father was to death. Crying was a trait she got from her mother, being able to stop it was another one of the many things she inherited from her father.

There were keys and coins, button hooks and pocket watches, mirrors and hair pins, wallets and purses, the occasional crumbled bill, a long lost photo, a wedding ring.

One by one, the boxes disappeared. Some went downstairs, some went in the trash, a rare few Derek gestured for and she put down by his chair. She squeezed his hand on occasion, pressed a kiss in his hair, but he never said a word.

“What about that one, daddy?” Claudia asked as she swiped dust from her pants, glancing at a small chest in the very back corner of the attic. It was red wood, with gold clasping, a little larger than the size of a pillow maybe, but taller. Covered in enough dust to make the red almost gray.

Her father shrugged, his dark gray eyebrows knitting together as if trying to recall some long forgotten memory or dream. Claudia crossed the room carefully, blowing softly at the top. It didn't help much, just enough that she could see the date: 1912, so far the oldest she had stumbled upon. She sat in front of it, flipping the locks carefully, before lifting the lid.

She removed pieces of what looked like a suit, just part of one: thick black cotton pants, a white cotton shirt, shoes and socks even. They were old, stale, washed out and worn, much too small for her father to ever fit in now, obviously. She sat them aside easily, feeling her eyebrows knit together the same way his did, as she plucked out a pocket watch, long rusted and suffering from water damage, stuck on the time 2:20 A.M.

Her eyes were still glued on the watch as her fingers dipped back into the box, wrapping around something cold and hard. She lifted as she sat the watch aside, the sound of a chain dragging pulling her attention to whatever else she had found.

Her breath caught.

In her hand was the most beautiful piece of jewelry she had ever seen. The entire chain was made of pure, square diamonds, all leading to the blue gem that rested in her palm. It was gorgeous, heart shaped, and she knew without even having to think about it that it was real, rare, beauty. “Daddy,” she whispered, awed.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him stiffen, saw him raise his head and look at her. His shoulders squared, his back went straight, and for a moment she honestly wondered if he was breathing. “The heart of the Ocean,” he muttered, but she knew he was talking more to himself than to her.

Claudia looked up slowly, meeting his gaze, and he smiled sadly at her...a smile that raised farther than just the curl of his lips; a smile that brought tears to her own eyes it was so heartbroken. “Daddy...” she said again, because in all forty-eight years of her life, she had never seen the man before her cry.

Derek reached out slowly, his hands shaking worse than they always did as they clasped over the diamond she was still holding. “Do you want to hear a story, Claudia?” he asked softly.

Suddenly, she felt like she was five years old again, sitting in front of his chair and begging to hear a bedtime story she knew she would never get. She didn't even know if he would hear her if she answered, he was already somewhere else...seeing something she couldn't, but she nodded anyway.

He smiled softly, thumbs smoothing over her fingers before the diamond was pulled from her loose grasp. Just when she was beginning to think she couldn't take this soft side of her father, he gave a rough huff of annoyance. “Titanic,” he started gruffly, verging on sarcasm, “was called the ship of dreams...”


	2. April 10th, 1912

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DeWitt was one of Rose's last names in the movie. It's added onto Derek's for a reason, and yes I'll say why.
> 
> Stiles' is a little OOC only because he has a thing for cursing, but I figure he would in this situation. Otherwise, I tried my best to keep them IC. Derek does brood a bit more depressingly though...

**Derek Hale-DeWitt** scrunched up his nose at the scent of salt in the air, even through the closed cabin of the automobile he could smell it. He hated it. He hated the feeling of his suit, too tight and too form fitting, he hated the feeling of leather under him, but most of all he hated the smell of the ocean.

“Why must you always look so distraught, brother?” Cora Hale-DeWitt asked from beside him, the fourteen year old was gazing fondly out the window of their Coupé de Ville, as if she had never seen the ocean before. Sometimes he missed being like her, looking at everything in life as if it was new. “What could possibly be wrong?”

Derek faced her with a scowl. “Do you see all these people?” Most of them were third class, lining the streets to either stare longingly at the beautiful ship or actually board it, taken over by so much wonderment – as if this was the best day of their lives. He figured it probably was, for them, but definitely not for him. Cora simply humphed at him, obviously determined not to let anything ruin her day.

He let her be, glancing out the window as well. He had to admit, the Titanic was a beautiful piece of architecture. Large and luxurious, but he knew the one and only reason they were taking it: it was all about money.

As if to remind him of that fact yet again, a hand fell on his thigh, squeezing gently. He tore his attention from the ship and placed it on his fiance. Katherine Argent smiled at him, a breathtaking grin that lit up her bright eyes and made men melt where they stood. She was a beautiful woman, tall and thin with sharp features and a grace others would kill for. Her blonde hair was piled on her head, woven into an elaborate bun held in by jewels. It wasn't unusual for her to be such a show off. He offered her a quirk of his lips in exchange before the vehicle stopped.

Derek was the first one out, feeling his scowl deepen the moment everything he already hated became worse. There was too much salt in the air...too much sun...must it all be like this? With a heavy sigh, he held a hand out to his sister. Cora gave him a sharp look as she slid a lilac silk glove into his grasp, stepping down easy. She was a beauty, his sister, even at such a young age. She looked just like their mother, with dark hair and dark eyes, such natural peach she rarely had to paint her face. Gowns fit her attractively, light colors always going so well with her tanned skin. In heals, she looked older than she really was. In a year or so, he knew she'd be married, it'd be easy with her.

He held a hand to his fiance next, who lacked all of the simplicity that Cora shined with. Kate Argent had more money than she knew what to do with, and she demonstrated this fact with insane dresses of dark velvet, fur coats, and as many gems as she could get away with wearing at one time.

She offered him a kiss on the cheek for his help, smiling at him before chatter struck up between his female counterparts. Never being one to care much, Derek threw himself into getting their bags, shaking his head when servants tried to help. He needed to stay busy, the busier he was the less he felt like he was drowning.

It was an awful feeling, being on land and yet not being able to get enough air in. Feeling like the wind itself was trying to choke the life out of you. Sometimes Derek himself actually forgot to breathe...sometimes it was just too much work.

He nodded to the servants when he had as many cases as he could carry, finally allowing them to help before he stepped up behind the girls. “--such a good thing they're doing health inspections,” Kate was saying, one arm looped with Cora's and the other outstretched, hand waving absently to where the third class were being checked for lice. “Not that I'm worried,” she continued, glancing back at Derek. “I mean, _surely_ we'll be separated well enough not to have to worry.”

“I don't know,” Cora murmured, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “It does bother me slightly, sharing such a small space with them for so long.”

Derek resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Cora had never been like that, just a few years ago it was agonizingly difficult to remind her of class lines. But then everything changed, and now she was trying more to impress than to be herself. “The Titanic is anything but small,” he muttered under his breath.

They passed onto the first class platform without a worry, handing over their tickets and politely issuing thanks when their room keys were given. Between the girlish screams even he had to acknowledge the beauty once inside, but no smile touched Derek Hale's face.

The awful drowning feeling was back.

He felt as if he was walking through mud as they made their way down the long hallways, everything was too dim...too absent...as if he was already living in a memory. The carpet under his shoes was plush, the white walls spotless, the cherry oak that lined everything held breathtaking designs, but he couldn't find it in himself to be amazed.

Cora was calling his name as she curtsied in front of a young seaman, who gave her a dashing smile before he looked up and saw Derek. His face fell before he scurried away, and Cora simply giggled as she turned to face her brother. “This is it,” she mentioned happily, spinning around and disappearing in front of the room she had stopped at.

Derek nodded and followed, offering Kate another short curl of the lips when her hand went around his upper arm, squeezing gently. She was trying and he knew it, but he doubted he could be reached. He was moving through fog, he had been for the last few years of his life, just waiting until he was out of air.

The room was too much. It was obnoxiously loud, with maroon and golden carpets, more cherry wood furnishing, three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a small dining area and a sitting area large enough for a home. There were maids and butlers moving about, setting things down for them and making sure they had everything they needed.

“We should hang your paintings first,” Cora decided as she pulled at the strings of her hat, glancing at the walls while she did so. Derek sighed, about to open his mouth and tell Cora that they had shipped Kate's paintings home instead of brought them along, but soon discovered he was incorrect when one of the butlers opened one of their many bags.

Of _course_ she brought them. He huffed, nostrils flaring, as he turned on his fiance. He could practically _feel_ Cora roll her eyes behind him, but he wasn't looking back. “Come now, brother, just because you have no art taste doesn't mean the room should continue to be drab!”

Kate smiled as she released her hold on his arm, slipping out of the thick, black fir coat she was well known for wearing. It was her trademark, really, from a grizzly her brother had killed a few years ago. “I have taste in art,” he mumbled as the two women began shuffling delicately through the images. “I just happen to like _real_ art. Not shapes thrown together that a six year old could have done.”

“Picasso is a real artist,” Kate replied absently as she lifted a painting Derek didn't care to see the front of. Cora ohh'd and awe'd before dancing around, trying to find the best place for it.

“Monet is a real artist,” he shot back. They were used to this fight, it was the only one they ever really had. Kate faced him with an unamused look, one eyebrow quirking and daring him to argue any more. He shrugged slightly before going to put the rest of their baggage down, choosing a room to stay in.

 

 **Stiles Stilinksi** hid his smirk behind a handful of cards and a puff of smoke. His gaze strayed on the black and white ship behind the heads of his opponents, looking magnificent even through glass. He couldn't wait to get closer, and a tugging at the corner of his mouth was threatening a bigger smile if he wasn't careful. He was going to get on that ship, one way or another.

They'd been at this for an hour, the six of them. Two were bickering in Italian, two strangers were frowning at their cards, and Stiles...Stiles had never felt better in his life. He pulled the cheap cigarette from behind his lips and grinned. “Well boys, are we doing this or not?”

Beside him, his best friend shifted in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck nervously with his free hand. “I can't believe you bet your ticket...” Scott McCall, the bastard, was the best fucking liar Stiles had ever met. “We're running out of time.”

That wasn't acting. Stiles' eyes darted to the clock in the corner of the room, but he just flashed a smile to his partner before settling back. On top of the sore excuse of a table there were a handful of coins, a pocket watch and a questionable knife, and three lovely third class tickets to the beautiful ship just within walking distance. Below the table hands were quietly passing, cards changing between skilled fingers, only stopping when the bickering Italians threw their cards down.

Stiles Stilinksi smirked behind another puff of smoke.

“Scott?” he asked, pulling the puppy dog eyes and a hopeful look as he turned to his partner. His best friend raised his gaze slowly, shook his head, and dropped his cards down. Perfect losing hand. Not too obvious, not too questionable. Just right.

Stiles' willed his eyes to go wide, dug his blunt nails in his palm to pull tears, and wondered for a moment what it would really feel like if his life was settling on this game...and not just a new adventure. That was a depressing thought. “No...no no no...”

The Italians, even though they had lost too, suddenly looked much too happy, as if they were glad the cocky little asshole sitting across from them hadn't won as well. But outweighing both of their glee was the two strangers at the table, partnered up for this night only, who suddenly looked at each other with toothy grinned realization. The tall one, with a mop of dirty curly hair, dropped his full house of cards on the table. The other one, a rough looking man with no hair at all, yelped with glee before leaning over the table to hug his new-found-best friend.

And that was exactly when he got a fist to the face. Isaac Lahey always packed a strong one, and the sound of bones breaking echoed through the nearly empty pub. “Go go go!” 

Stiles and Scott didn't miss a beat. Stiles' hand wrapped around the three sheets of paper on the table before he was under it, darting between confused Irish legs and out of the bar in mere seconds. His thin legs carried him as fast as they possibly could, old jacket flapping at his sides. He could hear the sounds of a fight behind him, but he didn't look back. Not once.

Scott and Isaac could handle that.

He turned a corner too fast, fingers trailing against the ground in what he was sure was a last ditch attempt to keep himself stable – “Shit shit shit!”. He was barely back on his feet before he jumped up on the black trash bin lining the street, pulling out a green knapsack seconds later.

He could hear laughter behind him, the uneven clamp of bad shoes on the road, before the pair he had left behind were rounding the corner after him. Isaac, taller than both of the other two, didn't even have to lift on his toes before he was grabbing a blue and gray bag from the dumpster, tossing one to the boy behind him. “Go Stiles, go! Before they catch up!” Scott ordered, staggering slightly under the newfound weight of the bag.

Stiles nodded and took off once again, pushing his body to the limit as he dashed across the street and through the mob of people just waiting to watch the ship take off. Shoulders hit him, men cursed, women tried to get out of his way, but he wasn't slowing down.

“Wait!” he called, dashing across the last open ramp, the ship was already pulling away.“We're passengers! I swear we are!” He jumped across the space between the boat and the walkway, slamming the three crumbled tickets at the confused Englishman waiting to close the door. Scott and Isaac barreled in behind him, still laughing like a bunch of children, taking him to the ground they were so close.

Stiles himself could no longer hold it in as he high-fived the two best men he'd ever known in his life. The grin he was wearing felt like it was going to split his face in two. He didn't stay on the ground long, kicking himself back onto his feet and shoving his way to the deck as fast as he could go. The halls were cramped, filled with too many people and not wide enough to really fit more than two at a time, but Stiles was small and fast, skinny enough due to malnourishment to get through whatever he wanted. He burst through the doors with a grin on his face, finding himself back in the open before long.

The air was cool, almost hurting his lungs as he gasped for much needed oxygen; waves bouncing off the side of the ship sending up spurts of water, everything tasting like salt. He loved it. He loved this. He loved _life_ .

He only paused for a moment, just long enough to calm the aching in his sides, before he was running across the deck to the nose of the ship. He grabbed the rails, pulling himself up as high as he dared to go. “I'm going home!” Stiles called, as loud as he could because it didn't matter, no one could hear him over yells of goodbyes. He turned around, a grin on his face. as he jumped down and clamped his hands on the shoulders of the boy who made this all possible. “I'm going home!”

He could kiss Soctt McCall right then, he really could, if it wasn't for Isaac—who was gazing at his best friend, blue eyes shining. “Me too,” he whispered, Irish accent heavy on his lips. Scott smiled, twining his fingers through his boyfriend's and giving them a soft squeeze. The moment wasn't long, but no one would notice anyway.

“We're going home,” Stiles said, and threw himself into both of their arms.

 

 **Derek** hated the Titanic. Actually, he supposed that wasn't fair to the ship...he mostly just hated his life. He'd been lucky enough to spend the day by himself, nestled in the corner of the couch and reading a book. The maids were around, setting out their belongings, but Derek had already taken care of his things...he'd never been a fan of letting people touch his stuff.

Cora had long ago disappeared to go exploring, most likely looking for friends. She was amiable, so he knew she wouldn't have a problem. Kate had gone too, though for what he didn't remember. Nor mind, for that matter. He was interested in finishing his book, but she came eventually to drag him off to dinner. 

So that was how he found himself, sitting at a large round table with the biggest names on the ship. Kate sat to his right, where she always claimed to belong as his 'better half', and Cora sat to his left every bit of what a woman should be. His little sister spoke with charm and class, eyes twinkling, always surprising everyone with how smart she was.

Kate spoke with regal disinterest, laughing with an undertone only he really understood. They were joined by Lydia Martin-Whittemore and her higher-than-thou husband, Jackson Whittmore, perhaps the youngest married couple there. Christopher Argent, Kate's brother, who designed the ship and threw off any questions with a humble smile. His wife, Victoria, an unapproachable woman – an arranged marriage left them with very little chemistry and Derek often found himself wondering what kind of a man Chris would be without her. There were a few other men around the table Derek couldn't name, ship designers or builders that were friends of Chris' most likely.

He had tuned out the talk long ago, not even vaguely interested in money play or politics. He was focusing more than a normal person on eating his food, because he wasn't tasting a drop of it. He was sure it was good, it looked good, but the only flavor he got was sand that he couldn't seem to wash down no matter how hard he tried. 

A squeeze at his elbow brought him out of his trance, and Kate gave him a warm smile that definitely did not match the cold look in her eyes. “I'm sorry,” he muttered. “Did I space out again? My apologies, I haven't been sleeping well.”

He was getting good at lying. 

“I was just asking, Mr. DeWitt, if you were looking forward to your upcoming wedding,” one of the older men said, a plump fellow with white hair and a handlebar mustache that still hid hints of red in it. Derek couldn't remember what the man did for a living, just that he was old money and kind enough. Liked the occasional drink a bit too much.

Derek ran a hand through his hair slowly. The drowning feeling was returning. The world lost it's sharpness, his clothes became too tight, and it felt like no matter what he did he couldn't get enough air in his lungs, which was worse thanks to the feeling of sand trapped in his throat. “I'm sorry,” he rasped as he lifted his napkin from his lap, placing it on the table. “You'll have to excuse me.”

He could hear Kate calling his name, but the world was caving in around him. The corner of his vision went black as he willed one foot to move in front of the other. He was outside without ever remembering how he got there, all he knew was that the god-awful smell of salt was back, the wind was in his hair, and he couldn't _breathe_.

Without thinking, he shed his jacket, jerked at his tie until the damned thing finally came loose, ripped at the top few buttons of his shirt, but nothing was enough, no matter how hard he tried he just couldn't get _free_.

 

 **Stiles** loved the Titanic. The two tickets they had won off the Italian's had the same room, but the one Stiles had actually scraped up enough money to buy didn't. After a bit of snooping and some special skills belonging to the one and only Isaac Lahey, they managed to get a room the three of them could share. They had one other roommate, they knew by the luggage on the bed, but they never saw him.

The third class rooms were small, barely big enough for the four bunks and space on each side to put their bags, the bathrooms being public and down the hall some, but none of them minded. It was warm, there were beds, that was good enough for them.

The trio spent most of their time up on the deck, Scott and Isaac played a good game with a bunch of kids kicking balls back and forth to each other, and Stiles mostly leaned over the railings and grinned at the sea below him, occasionally seeing dolphins jumping nearby which was something he had never experienced outside of paintings.

Sometimes, he would step up as far as he dared to go, hold his arms out and close his eyes. The wind would push back his hair, water would spray lightly against his cheeks, and he would wonder for a moment if that was what flying felt like.

He found himself on every part of the deck he could be, sitting on the ground with his sleeves pulled up and his portfolio in his lap, sketching anything and everything. He did the clouds, the waves, the way a seagull looked as it swooped down for a fish, or the British Flag on the mast. 

However, portraits were his thing, and Stiles eventually found himself sketching Scott and Isaac. It wasn't the first time, his book was filled with pictures of the couple in different settings. Today, they were simply near each other, the older with a cigar resting between his lips, one hand curled around the top rail, smile on his face as his curls floated in the wind and he absentmindedly leaned towards Scott. His suspenders were down, falling somewhere mid thigh, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the first few buttons of his shirt undone.

Scott was sitting on the ground at his feet, one knee drawn up and arm resting over it, cigarette between his fingers, the left suspender falling down his arm, a secret smile on his face as chocolate brown eyes glanced up at his partner.

Sometimes, when Stiles really thought about it, he didn't understand how others were so blind. How could anyone not realize what Scott and Isaac were? What they mean to each other? Because Stiles saw it...every time they were around each other, standing, sitting, or sharing a look from across the room. It almost hurt, that kind of love. 

He stayed there all day. He drew everything that caught his eye. The way the caption looked at the very top of the ship, a little girl and her worn bunny, a first class woman and a glass of champagne. He didn't return to his room when Scott and Isaac did, he didn't ever think about getting something to eat, and once the sun went down he simply retreated to the far end of the ship, where he knew it would be empty, and fell on his back to look up at the stars. 

People were still up, it wasn't that late. He could hear music pulsating below him, and on the first class layer he could see waiters with food and lights shining. He wondered breifly what it would be like, to be up there. Was it warm, despite how cold it was down here? The water was making it worse, he supposed, but he didn't mind. If there was one thing Stiles Stilinski was used to it was the cold.

And it was after that thought crossed his mind that he heard running. His eyebrows knit together as he pushed himself up on his elbows, watching as someone rushed passed him. A male someone, tall and fit, broad shouldered, black hair. He felt his eyebrows lift as he watched

Curiosity had always been a major pain in his ass, and Stiles pushed himself up quickly, shoving his hands in the pockets of his baggy pants as he followed the man to the very edge of the ship. The stranger didn't miss a beat, his feet went straight from the ground to the first rail, second, third – 

Stiles' eyes went wide. “Holy shit.” He picked up his speed, knowing exactly what was about to happen. The bastard was going to jump, and he had about 2.5 seconds to stop it because...that guy wasn't hesitating. _At all_. He was already on the last rail, feet balanced, one had on the uprising pole.

Oh those were knees bending. “Hey!” Stiles called, and thankfully he had the element of surprise because the man shook slightly before looking over his shoulder, thick eyebrows knitting together. “What the hell do you think you're doing?!”

The man's face became even more confused. “What are _you_ doing?” he asked, as if he couldn't comprehend the idea that someone might actually try to stop him. Stiles took advantage of that, easing forward until he was right next to him. The man kept his gaze locked on Stiles' every movement, but didn't seem to quite grasp what he was doing.

“Well,” Stiles said, dropping his arms casually over the rails, looking out at the dark water. “I _was_ enjoying the cool night air, until I saw you.”

The man stared at him for a moment, but the confusion was fading away, being replaced slowly by a look of total and complete annoyance. “Well go back to that then. I surely don't want to keep you.”

Stiles snorted. “Can't now. You've already dragged me into this. So what are we doing? Are we jumping?” he placed both hands on the rails, lifting up on his toes and pushing his torso over the bars so he could look down. He let out a low whistle. “I don't know about that man, seems pretty cold.”

The stranger sneered. “ _I'm_ jumping. You're...” he trailed off suddenly and Stiles bit down a triumphant grin, not allowing himself to look over. “How cold?”

Got him. “Fuckin' freezing,” Stiles answered, stepping back and shedding his jacket. “Worse than living on the streets of North Dakota in the winter. You ever been to Grand Forks in the middle of the fucking winter? Shit, talk about cold.”

The man was looking at him now in complete astonishment. Stiles took a breath and squared his shoulders. “Alright then, let's do this.” He grabbed the rails again, pulling himself up bar by bar until he was stepping over on the outside of the ship, back to the rails, nothing but miles and miles of frigid water in front of him. “So, how are we doing this? Count to three or--”

“What are you doing?” the man asked, surprisingly calm, still perched on the top of the bars. His strong body wasn't even wavering at what Stiles could only assume was a highly uncomfortable position, his grip on the pole the only thing keeping him between life and death.

Stiles arched an eyebrow, looking around theatrically at the situation that surrounded them before glancing back up at the man. “Didn't I make that obvious? You jump, I jump.”

The man raised both eyebrows in what would have been a comical expression under just about any other situation. “You're crazy.”

“Well yeah,” Stiles breathed out a shaky laugh, getting a better grip on the railing. His palms were sweating, his heart was beating a little too fast, but his tone didn't give him away. “Almost as crazy as you. But no one deserves to die alone, so let's do this.”

“Get down.”

“You first.”

There was a silence so long that for a moment Stiles thought he was actually going to have to go through with this. Then he heard the most blessed sound – expensive shoes, climbing down. He let out a breath he hadn't even known he was holding. “Oh thank god.”

To his surprise, that actually earned him a chuckle. “Come on,” the man said, “I'll help you back over.” Stiles nodded, steadying himself, as he turned around slowly. There was an ever present strong hold on his upper arm, just in case.

He laughed a little as he brought one foot up after the other, back on the rails, moving one hand to grip the same pole the other male had been clinging to earlier. “Man I can't believe--” 

He slipped.

Stiles had never felt panic like this. He'd been in fights, he'd had guns pointed to his forehead, he'd even been in a car crash once. He'd nearly frozen to death, nearly fallen over from dehydration, and one year it was so damn hot he literally thought he'd catch fire. But this? This was _terrifying_. He felt solidarity slip away under his feet and suddenly realized he definitely wasn't ready to die.

A strong hand wrapped around his wrist, the grip iron clad and nearly jerking his arm apart from his shoulder. The stranger grunted, his gut colliding with the bars, and looked down at Stiles with a confidence he himself couldn't muster at the time being.

“H-hey,” Stiles joked, his voice shaking. “Hows it hangin'?”

The man gave him the most unamused look Stiles had ever seen before throwing down his other arm, bracing himself with his legs. Not one to push is luck, Stiles grabbed at it hungrily and used his feet to help push when the stranger pulled. He was too frantic, and once his feet cleared the last rail both of them went flailing to the ground.

The stranger ended up on his back, Stiles spread over him, knee between his legs, face in his shoulder. The man huffed in extreme annoyance and Stiles chuckled awkwardly before rolling to the side, landing with a soft thud on his own back.

For a moment, neither moved, and Stiles finally grinned and held his hand out. “Claudius Stilinski.” They were both still on the ground, his hand simply hovered over the man's chest, waiting to be taken.

The stranger blinked, twisting his head to the side to look at Stiles. “What?”

“My...name,” Stile said, “that's my name. I was introducing myself. You know, if we're going to go around saving each others lives the least we can do is know each others names.”

The man stared at him for a long minute, so long that Stiles was suddenly aware of just how attractive he was. His thick black hair was styled to the side, a few strands having come loose from perfection while he was running. He had the sharpest jaw line Stiles had ever seen, covered in well groomed stubble, eyebrows that conveyed emotions better than he himself could, and emerald eyes that seemed much too deep for his age. “I...you're going to have to write that one down.”

The silence lasted only a beat before Stiles cracked up laughing, and the stranger actually offered him a smile in a way that Stiles knew he didn't do such a thing much. There were no lines around his mouth or his eyes, where they should have been, but that only made him more attractive some how. “You can call me Stiles,” he said finally, “everyone does.”

“Derek,” the man offered, and finally took his hand despite the odd angle. “Derek Hale.”

Stiles smiled, shook it, then dropped both of his hands on his chest. He sighed happily as he looked up at the stary sky, glad that was something he could look at still. He lost track of how long they were there, not saying a word, but Stiles didn't mind. Oddly enough, it wasn't that uncomfortable.

“I'll try again,” Derek finally said.

Stiles didn't miss a beat. “And I'll be there to stop you. I'll _always_ be there, Derek.”

More silence. And then, without another word, Derek Hale got up and left. Stiles wasn't worried, he'd be back, and they both knew it.

 

**“Derek...”**

Derek didn't look up when he heard Kate's voice, but he knew where she was, standing in the doorway with one hand resting on the frame. He didn't so much as acknowledge her voice as he pulled at the buttons on his cuff. He just wanted to lay down, to close his eyes, to forget about a certain third class boy and the way those amber eyes had looked up at him...

He bit down a smile as Kate crossed the room, clad in nothing but a nightgown, her blonde hair hanging loosely down her back. She stood behind him, one hand on each of his shoulders, and he slowly rose his gaze to the mirror in front of them. They were a beautiful couple together, and everyone knew it. His dark features contrasted with her light ones, and somehow they just seemed to...fit.

But the image looking back at him made his stomach churn. The nausea was almost too much to handle. This was going to be his life from now on. Her standing over him, that small smile on her face and a light in her eyes that he couldn't return. Didn't want to. Didn't know how to. He had hoped...maybe...that that feeling would go away, but it was already back. He was drowning. He was drowning on dry land.

“I know you've been sad lately,” Kate said softly, as she leaned down over him and undid the last of the buttons across his chest, with caring fingers. “I won't pretend to know why...but you know you could tell me if you wanted? Perhaps I could even help?”

Silence. He didn't say anything, he didn't know what to say anyway. She smiled at him through their shared reflection before walking around him, taking his chin in her soft hands and leaning down to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “Open your heart to me, Derek. You did once before”

With one last smile, she left the room.

This was the life Stiles Stilinski cursed him with.

And he would never forgive him.


	3. April 11th, 1912

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...people are actually reading this...that's...pretty damn awesome

**Stiles** shook his head, hands shoved in pockets, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he watched Scott and Isaac bicker in front of him. It was a common occurrence, but they never actually _fought_. Even now they had smiles on their faces.

“I shared that piece of bread with you anyway!” Scott exclaimed, laughing and barely managing to catch his balance when Isaac shoved him. This was an old one, a story Stiles had heard so many times he felt as if he could have been there. It'd happened the year they met, a pretty bad one, with not enough food and one roll of bread Scott had fought his way for. 

Scott had always been a softie though, and by the end of the night he'd found his way back to the curly haired boy and shared half of his only meal for the week. Now, Isaac still pretended to be battered over the ordeal, saying he let Scott win the fight to begin with. They did this a lot, each of them trying to one up the other on how well they showed their love, even before they had an established relationship. Sometimes they made Stiles' want to gag.

Isaac turned, walking backwards, rolling the cigarette in his mouth with his tongue, a slight smirk on his lips as he looked at the younger male. “Only after you dropped it in water, jerk.”

“You are both such idiots,” Stiles muttered, repositioning the portfolio under his arm. Sometimes he wondered how he put up with them and the disgusting amount of love they were so obviously swimming in. He was waiting for Isaac to smart off, just the way he knew he would, when he heard a huff of annoyance instead.

Stiles looked up just in time to see Isaac's badass demeanor shift into puppy mode before he ducked away, rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze became suddenly interested in the ground. Stiles just grinned at the figure his friend had run into. He would know those emerald green eyes and furrowed eyebrows anywhere.“Well well,” he mused, “Coming to slum it with third class again...?”

He could feel Scott's eyes on him, wide and questioning, but Stiles wasn't paying attention because Derek was _stunning_. He was wearing a three piece suit, expensive and untouched looking, made out of some deep black material. It fit him perfectly, as if it was made specifically for his body, and Stiles knew that was probably the case. He was every bit of first class today, hair gelled back, the scruff on his face neatly combed. His eyes were striking against all the black, his well warn lips the only sign of not complete and utter perfection. For a moment, Stiles almost thought he smiled, but it may have been a trick of the light.

“Stiles.”

Scott's mouth dropped. “You know him?!” he asked, disbelief written all of his features, and even Isaac was looking up through his lashes at this point. Which was saying something, if the six foot tall giant of a man had to look _up_.

Stiles simply smiled, his eyes still locked on the gift of a man standing in front of him. “Yeah,” he mentioned. “We go back.”

This time Derek did smile, but it was so small Stiles wouldn't have seen it if he hadn't been looking for it. Hee snapped out of his trance slowly, turning towards his two friends. “Scott, Isaac, this is Derek Hale. Derek...these are my friends.”

Isaac's brows knit together the moment Stiles made the introduction, but Scott was already moving forward—jutting out a hand for Derek to shake, a concentrated look appearing on his face as if he was trying to remember any manners he'd ever heard of in his entire life. 

Derek, who had his hands clamped behind his back, only glanced at the offer Scott gave him. One look at three day old dirt and broken fingernails apparently told him all he needed to know, because he looked up at Stiles with a very exasperated raising of the eyebrows.

Stiles chuckled softly, stepping up and pushing Scott's hand down. “What's up, sourwolf?” That only earned him another look, which he of course ignored, before Derek sighed and seemed to deflate a little.

“I was wondering if we could...talk.” The words came out with a bit of a twist, like he couldn't figure out exactly what he wanted to say or how. His eyebrows were still drawn together, like he wasn't sure if he should bolt now or not.

Stiles simply nodded before glancing back at the other two boys. “Hey, I'll catch you both later, okay?” when he received identical flabbergasted nods, he grinned back at Derek and gestured with his head to start walking down towards the other end of the ship.

There was silence as they left Scott and Isaac in the background, enough so that Stiles was almost sure Derek didn't actually know what he wanted to talk about. Stiles didn't mind though, he simply smiled and enjoyed the feeling of salty air brushing his hair back. He could feel eyes on him all the time, and when he finally looked at Derek he caught a green gaze already on him.

“I know what you're thinking,” he finally said. Stiles' scoffed – _“I highly doubt that”_ – but Derek kept going. “Poor little rich boy, what does he know about misery...?” every word was dark, forced out between gritted teeth, and Stiles actually stopped moving for a moment.

Derek was ten steps ahead of him before he noticed, glancing back over his shoulder, one eyebrow lifted. Stiles simply leaned his hips against the rails, portfolio still safely under his arm, and shook his head lightly. He turned his attention onto the water, gathering his thoughts before he decided to say anything.

“My mother used to say something about misery and happiness,” he started, nudging at the ground with the toe of his well worn shoes. A smile tugged at his lips as he thought about her, a familiar ache building in his chest. “She said it didn't matter where you were in the world, both always existed. You just... had to decide what was more important to you. 'The poor man will find happiness in his friends and family, but misery in his materials. The rich man will find happiness in his materials, but misery in his cage'.”

Derek hesitated, allowing another silence to wash over them while Stiles stayed in his memories for a moment. “Your mother is a wise woman.”

“Was,” Stiles corrected, lifting up his elbow to brush at the side of his face. The tears wouldn't fall, they hadn't for a very long time, but that didn't mean they didn't exist. “She died when I was ten. Got too sick, deep in her brain.” He shook his head again, losing the memories and the thoughts with the motion, before turning back to Derek. The man was looking at him with scrunched eyebrows, like he couldn't figure out how to handle this situation. Stiles understood, he didn't want to handle it either, so he blurted out the first thing that came to mind: “Do you love her?”

Derek's face changed in the blink of an eye, going from contemplating to shocked to confused. For a moment it was like he didn't understand that the topic had changed, and then as if he wasn't sure what Stiles had actually said. “Excuse me?” Derek finally asked, settling on confused but with a bit of a bite.

Stiles chuckled, because really Derek Hale was too fucking adorable, and gestured with the hand holding his portfolio. “Engagement ring, I noticed it the other night.” Anyone would, really. It was a flashy ring, even for a man. Bright gold around the edges and pure diamond in the middle. 

Derek looked down at his hand, eyebrows drawn forward in a way that clearly stated that piece of jewelry wasn't something he could easily forget, and a flash of distaste crossed his face. Stiles was beginning to realize if emotions weren't being conveyed by eyebrow raising or scrunching, they were so fast one would, without a doubt, miss them. Instead of answering, Derek simply looked up and glared. “That's not appropriate.”

Stiles arched an eyebrow, one that he knew wasn't nearly as dramatic as the ones his counterpart could make. “What? The fact that I realized it, or that I asked?” And by 'realized it', of course he meant that he already knew the answer to his question. Most people didn't try to throw themselves off the back of ships if they were happily engaged. If he did love her, Stiles knew there was an even more interesting tale behind that first night, but he doubted it.

“That you asked,” Derek replied, more of a bite in his voice than Stiles had yet to hear, giving him a look that stated it should have been obvious. “You can't just...ask stuff like that.”

Stiles snorted, rearranging the way he was sitting to get more comfortable because _obviously_ this was about to become a conversation. “Only if the answer isn't appropriate.”

That seemed to strike a cord, and in the next second Derek's hand was snapping out and Stiles found himself without his portfolio. He gaped, because _seriously_?! He would have handed it over if he had just been asked. 

“What is this anyway?” Derek demanded in the most blatant way of changing the topic Stiles had ever seen, an irritated growl filling his tone. Stiles shrugged carelessly, knowing better than to think he was about to get his art back. He simply shoved his hands into his pockets, watching Derek thumb through the pages. What started as angry abandon soon slowed, and Derek's features softened. “These...are really good.”

For a moment Stiles didn't know how to handle the compliment, mostly because he didn't see it coming. He was waiting for Derek to rip his art to pieces, say something degrading about class lines and amount of talent just like everyone else always had. “Oh,” he finally murmured, still secretly waiting for Derek to throw something back at him. But he never did. In fact, the older man backed up a few steps until he was sitting on the edge of one of the benches.

Stiles watched him for the longest time, watched how Derek treated each page with care now, slowly turning one after the other and taking more than enough time to look over whatever picture decorated the canvas. Eventually, Stiles willed himself to move, sitting slowly down next to the older man. This specific portfolio was for portraits, and Derek had already paused on one of the many pictures of Scott and Isaac.

Stiles kind of figured he had to be thankful for his friends. As annoying as they were, they made for good subjects. This particular one happened to be one of his favorites, just because it was well done. It was an innocent drawing, outside on snowy streets, just the two of them walking. It was the shading that made it so good, even though most of it was white...it was a good contrast piece.

The next few pages were random sketches on focus points, whatever had finally caught his overactive attention span: a certain hair style, eyes, jawlines, hands, feet, the occasional way a smile curved or a waist synched.

He'd been through this particular portfolio more than the others, always returning to different images to add another stroke or perfect another line. It was filled with the best of the best, all portraits, and the ones that were coming up had made people blush more than once. He didn't say anything though. 

The next image Derek paused on was one of his personal favorites. She was Japanese, young and breathtakingly beautiful. The image started with her fingertips, draping over the top of the page, and ended just below her navel. She was unclothed and raw, black waves of hair falling down from the top of her head to the very edge of the page. Her eyes were the best part, filled with too much knowledge and too much pain, and yet more fight than he'd ever seen in his life.

“There are a lot of her,” Derek pointed out, flipping the page to a landscape image. She was sitting, that beautiful hair over one shoulder, chin sitting on the other. The focus was her bare back. She was so thin, every notch of her spine could be seen. That wasn't so rare, not from his side of the tracks, what surprised him about her was...that she was still beautiful. So much one's heart would ache just looking at her.

“Her name was Kira,” Stiles explained, sitting up a bit to properly look at the images. They were a few years old now, and the only ones left were the ones he couldn't bare to part with. He'd sold a lot of her. “I met her in New York. I just couldn't get enough of her.”

“Were you two together?” Derek asked, his voice doing that thing were it sharpened a bit on the edges, and for a moment he paused in his flipping before going through the next few pages of her, all without clothing.

Stiles snorted. “No, she was a prostitute--” Derek shot him a look, somewhere between slightly disgusted and wondering how Stiles could afford that kind of company - “and was just really good to be around. She had the best personality.” She did too, the kind of girl who refused to be a victim of circumstance. He'd even offered to let her come with him, join him and Scott and Isaac when he finally found the boys again. She'd thought about it, and he was honestly sad when she'd declined. He didn't often get along with girls. He thought about her every once and awhile, wondered how she was. If there was anyone he could meet again in the world, he'd pick her.

Derek nodded and turned another page, his expression slowly smoothing as if he understood what Stiles was saying, then the portfolio quickly slammed shut. Stiles chuckled. “It's just art, sourwolf.”

If Stiles were a gambling man – which he was, but the saying didn't work that way – he would have asked Derek if he was blushing, but he kind of liked the idea of his throat intact. “That looked...I've never known men who took their clothes off like that.”

Stiles just smiled. Yeah, the rest of the portfolio was filled with men. He liked women, but they were too easy to draw. Too many soft curves and turns. Men were sharp, outstanding, detailed. “Well, that was in Paris, so...”

“Paris,” Derek mumbled thoughtfully, eyes gazing at the worn cover of the portfolio. “And New York...how many places have you been?”

Stiles grinned, stretching out before leaning back against the wall. “That's a conversation for another time.” And it would be, considering Derek let there be another time. He actually enjoyed the older male's company, even if he was kind of broody. 

Derek just nodded, and Stiles fought down a bigger grin while silence fell, but the portfolio never opened again. Stiles closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in soft air. Derek was tense beside him, but he just waited it out, until finally...

“Can I ask you something?”

The corners of his mouth tugged up slightly. “Sure.”

“Would you have really jumped?”

“Would you?” Stiles shot back, before opening his eyes and settling them on Derek's form. All he revived back was a blank stare and hard emerald eyes. He quirked a sad smile. “You have your answer.”

“Why?”

Stiles shrugged, gazing back out at the water. This part of the ship always seemed to be a little empty, and he wondered for a moment how they always found themselves out here. “I live my life by adventure... and death would certainly be a great one.”

Derek stared at him for a moment, then a slow smile appeared on his face. A real one, warm and genuine, and Stiles wanted it to never, ever go away.. “You should come to dinner with me,” he finally said, standing, and tucking Stiles' portfolio under his arm. “I'm keeping this for the night, by the way.”

Stiles arched an eyebrow in reaction to both things, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “Dinner...with you...up _there_?” His eyes jumped towards the landing above them, which wasn't even first class but it got the point across.

Derek nodded, as if this wasn't quite possibly the worst thing he had ever thought up in the entire world.. “As a...thank you...for last night.” The words came out a little forced, reminding Stiles of exactly how the other male had sounded when he asked if they could talk.

Stiles' eyebrow inched farther up his forehead. “I didn't think you wanted to be saved.” Because he clearly remembered the borderline pissed Derek he got that night, the obvious indication that he was going to finish the deed...one day, somehow.

Derek's gaze hit the ground again, and then he turned on his heels. Stiles settled back, knowing better than to think he was going to get an explanation, but just before Derek made his way back upstairs he heard: “I just wanted to breathe...and I can do that with you.”

 

 **Derek** walked into perhaps the girliest scene he had ever seen in his life, and Kate wasn't even in the room. Instead he was faced with the image of his little sister and the one and only Lydia Martin-Whittemore sitting around a table of jewels and paints and...Derek cringed.

Cora, who was sitting as straight as she possibly could, opened one eye while Lydia smeared make-up on her face. Which she didn't need. “Hi Derek!” she said excitedly.

“Sweetheart,” Lydia scolded, every bit catty. “What did I tell you about talking?”

Cora's face fell for a moment, but then she was quickly back to looking like a statue. Lydia hummed in approval and went back to painting. Derek sighed, about to get ready to tell Lydia to get the hell out, when a thought popped into his mind.

“Lydia...does Jackson perhaps have an extra suit he wouldn't miss?”

Lydia scoffed, picking up a brush to gently smooth over Cora's already flawless cheeks. “Derek, honey, Jackson doesn't wear the same outfit twice in a lifetime. He has millions of extra suits he wouldn't miss.”

Perhaps Derek would have smiled at that, because it meant good things for him, but he didn't. Instead, he actually scowled, knowing he was going to have to get straight to the point with her. “So, I could borrow one then?”

The redhead twisted around in her seat, salmon pink lips plumped and eyes focused off to the side as she seemed to think about that. “Um...I don't think you two are the same size.”

Derek rolled his eyes, unbuttoning his jacket and slipping it off. Of course they weren't the same size, Jackson was well built but he was much leaner than Derek. Stiles was a lanky kid, all long limbs and nothing but bones, and while Jackson was much healthier he didn't seem like he'd be much wider. “It's not for me,” he explained. “It's for a friend.”

“You don't have any friends,” Cora piped up, just as Lydia arched one perfect eyebrow and stated, “What friend of yours wouldn't have a suit?”

Derek exhaled strongly through his nose, dropping his jacket on the back of a chair before turning slowly on the young woman. Lydia raised both hands, her eyes going wide in what he was sure was mock horror rather than actual fear, before she turned back to the masterpiece that was his sister.

“Hm...say I could get a suit out of our room and back here before dinner...what's in it for me?”

Derek thought about that for a moment, watching Lydia tilt her head. He sighed, running a free hand through his hair as his eyes gazed over the absurd paintings hanging on the walls. He found himself hating them more and more with every passing moment. Then a thought occurred to him. “How about a portrait?”

Lydia stopped fussing with his sister again and turned towards him, but even with her overly nonchalant attitude he knew he had caught her interest. “A portrait huh? By what artist?”

“My friend,” Derek answered, ignoring Cora's slightly annoyed and incredulous glare behind Lydia's shoulder. “I promise he's outstandingly good, that's why he'll be joining us at dinner.”At least, that's what he would say if anyone asked, because it wasn't like he could explain Stiles' presence without mentioning that he tried to kill himself. It'd be better if that certain bit of information never got out.

Lydia studied him for a moment before popping her lips and turning back to Cora. “Fine,” she stated, sitting one brush down in favor of the other. “Call for him then. Helena, fetch me one of Jackson's suits would you? One from the back.”

The maid Derek hadn't even noticed nodded as she stood, curtsied on her way out, and disappeared around the door. For a moment Derek actually felt the need to smile triumphantly, but he aggressively shut that feeling down.

 

Getting Stiles to bathe was harder than it should have been. 

Derek didn't call for Stiles until it was late afternoon, waiting for the best opportunity, which came sooner than he would have thought. Three hours prior to dinner, Kate stood and kissed his cheek, mumbling something about finger-foods with Victoria and spending time with her brother. She said she'd see him at dinner, which he knew meant that she wouldn't be back.

That was when one of the butlers arrived, a confused looking Stiles Stilinksi standing beside him when the door opened. He grinned at Derek, something that lit his entire stupid face up, and looked around Derek's form and momentarily into the room. “Hey,” he said, “so, this guy came and got me, wouldn't touch nothin' down there go-fuckin'-figure, and said--” Stiles shut up suddenly, his eyes going wide when he saw Cora. “Oops...I meat...frickin'...”

Derek shook his head slowly and pushed the door open wider, muttering a thanks to the butler before he shut the door. Lydia came around the corner, brushing her fingers down a well pressed suit. “It looks new enough that no one should question it, but Jackson--” She looked up and her speech immediately stopped as she eyed Stiles. She sighed softly, lips pursing as she looked up at Derek. “What...the holy hell...is that?”

Stiles looked at Derek first, then behind him, before realizing that yes, she was looking at him. Derek bit the inside of his cheek as the boy suddenly looked down at himself, pulling at his clothes before glancing up at Derek with wide eyes. “What?” he mouthed.

Derek sighed. “This is Stiles,” he explained. “My friend.” He definitely ignored the way Stiles blinked at him and grinned. Definitely.

“How long has it been since he's had a bath?” Cora asked, her nose drawn up. Derek shrugged one shoulder, looking at Stiles for an explanation. The boy just blinked at him.

“Uh...”

“Nope. No way.” Lydia dropped the bundle of clothing on the table, shaking her head as she walked away. “I am not toughing _that_ until it has properly been cleaned.”

Stiles gaped at her, then gestured at Derek hopelessly, who merely shook his head and placed both hands on Stiles' shoulders, pushing him towards the bathroom. “Come on, let's do this.”

The first failure was assuming Stiles actually knew how to use a bathtub. Which he didn't. He walked into the bathroom, closed the door, was gone for five minutes before returning with a sheepish smile. Derek sighed, set his book aside, got up and turned on the water, then went back to sit down.

The second mistake was assuming he would know how to _stop_ the water, and Derek had to get up again – mutter threateningly that the other male better be clothed – before opening the door and stopping the water.

The last mistake was assuming Stiles would have any idea what he was actually doing in there. And Derek ended up with his back against the door, walking Stiles through shampoo and body wash and proper rinsing techniques, then how to properly drain the tub. 

At one point he grumbled angrily that he should have just gone in there with him-- _obviously_ not thinking through his words-- which was met by the sound of something crashing against the floor and embarrassed stuttering. They didn't talk about that again.

The entire adventure took almost an hour alone.

When Stiles opened the door, Derek tilted his head to look up at him, and that adorable sheepish smile was back. “Sorry I...didn't think I should put my clothes back on so I just...used this robe. I figured it was yours?” It was. It was long and black silk, falling on Stile's lanky frame haphazardly, clinging to places that were still wet.

Now that he was clean, Derek could actually see a difference. His skin was a shade lighter and he didn't seem so rough, his lips looked fresh and healthy, and his ridiculous hair which usually stood up each and every way was laying back in a matter that said he had already pushed his fingers through it once or twice.

“Sorry I took so long,” Stiles smiled again, shyly, guilty, “It was just...warm you know?” Derek just nodded, watching water drops fall from the tip of his nose before he licked his own lips and pushed himself up.

“Let's get you dressed.”

 

That took the next two hours they had before dinner. Lydia immediately began fussing over Stiles, who got into his pants and the button down well enough on his own, but was having difficulty with everything else. Derek simply sat on the edge of the couch and hid his uncontrolable smile behind his drink.

It was kind of adorable, really, the way Stiles was standing in the middle of the room with Lydia fretting around him. Jackson's clothes were, unsurprisingly, too big but it actually wasn't a bad fit. The pants were too baggy, and they fell down Stiles' hips a little too low, but the jacket was long enough it hid that. The white shirt and vest were a big baggy around the middle, but Lydia worked some magic that made them look alright.

The jacket fixed a lot, and she buttoned it halfway which helped even more, and folded the white cuff's of Stiles' sleeves up just enough to make it look fashionable. “I suppose this will do,” Lydia mentioned as she rolled her hands down Stiles' chest, frowning when she stepped back. Stiles shot a look over her shoulder, amber eyes pleading, but Derek didn't say a word.

Lydia's hands were on her hips and she gave out a sigh. “Does your hair _always_ look like this?”

Stiles quirked a smile. “No offense ma'am, but I really can't afford a mirror.”

He was sure Lydia rolled her eyes before she marched away, coming back a moment later with her gloves gone and something on the tips of her fingers. She ran them through his hair aggressively, ignoring his groans and grabbing him back by the chin or a fist full of hair when he tried to get away. “Don't call me _ma'am_ either,” she grumbled. “I'm not old enough for that yet. I doubt I'm much older than you.”

Derek knew he was going to regret it, but he had to ask anyway. Stiles was the kind of man you couldn't guess an age for. He had young features, a more boyish face especially paired with that hair of his, but his eyes were older, the way he spoke belonged to a man, and he definitely had some life experience. “How old are you?”

“Seventeen,” Stiles answered, and Derek felt his heart sink a little, though why he wasn't quite sure. Lydia had been right, she only out-aged him by a year, but Derek was a few years older than her even.

Lydia hummed then stepped away, wiping her hands on a washcloth as she tilted her head and looked Stiles over. “Well, I bet that's as good as it's going to get.” He looked good though, wearing pressed black brought out the amber in his eyes and the moles decorating his face. The bowtie around his neck added a bit of class, and Derek was somewhat partial to the look of that ridiculous hair pushed back. Though, he had a feeling it was more something to do with the idea of messing it up again himself.

Not knowing where that came from, he quickly changed the subject. “It's amazing,” he told Lydia. “He could almost pass for a gentleman.”

Stiles snorted. “I make a better one than you.”

For a moment there was a beat of silence, and Stiles' eyes went wide as he glanced between the girls, but then all of them burst into laughter. And even Derek, despite himself, curled his lips into a small smile.

“Well,” Lydia mumbled, replacing her gloves and each piece of jewelry exquisitely on her fingers. “Cora, darling, escort your brother to dinner. I'll take Mister...” she glanced at Stiles, her brow meeting together. “Please tell me _Stiles_ isn't your only name.”

“Stilinski,” Stiles supplied while he stepped in front of a mirror, grinning at his reflection and tugging at the collar on his jacket. “Claudius Stilinski.”

Lydia blinked and looked at Derek, who shrugged one shoulder and tried his best to convey the fact that yes, that was his real name, without ever having to say something. The red head hummed in approval before holding her elbow out.

Stiles glanced at her, as if momentarily unsure, and Derek felt his gaze on him the entire time that he himself squared his shoulders and offered his own elbow to Cora, who delicately slid her fingers into the the crook and offered Stiles a smile.

Stiles followed Derek's posture, bringing his height up by a couple of inches, which surprised Derek...he had no idea their heights actually matched. The younger male plastered a breathtaking smile on his face, fisted one hand behind his back, and slid the other arm around Lydia's perfectly.

Lydia smiled. “Well, well,” she mumbled, “would you look at that...”

The walk to the dining hall was a simple one. Lydia smiled and waved amicably at anyone who could manage to catch her gaze, which was a hard task, while Cora preformed one sided curtsies to just about everyone who was standing around. 

Derek kept his eyes on Stiles, waiting to intervene, but the boy was doing amazing on his own. He must have been nervous, but it didn't show. He shot out dazing smiles and placed good handshakes to anyone who offered. Derek began to wonder just how Stiles perfected those acting skills of his...

He shook the thought from his head as Lydia glanced back at him, a confident smile on her face before she stepped through the double doors and down the winding marble staircase. “What do you think it looks like?” Cora asked beside him, her eyes leveled on the back of Stiles' head. “To him?”

That was a very good question, Derek decided. All of this would be new to Stiles. The cherry wood that framed the room, embedded with detailed designs, the golden vases at every corner filled with oddly fresh flowers for a boat, the rows and rows of oak tables covered delicately with white lace. China place settings, real silverware, fresh roses, piles of food. To Stiles' benefit, his gaze only froze once, on the diamond chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.

Derek tightened his grip on his sister before stepping up next to Stiles, angling his head slightly to talk to the other male without making it look like he was ignoring greetings from the others. “You are holding onto the arm of miss Lydia Martin-Whittemore. She comes from the Boston Martin's and has made her own career in in high fashion and jewels. What most people forget because of her outstanding beauty is how smart she is. She actually speaks four different languages and is well versed in mathematics.”

Lydia was well known for smiling, but he could catch the genuine ones, which were extremely rare and hard to come by. But the smile she gave him then was real, soft and warm and...thankful, perhaps, that he could see through her charade. “Don't let that fool you though,” he mumbled, “she'll bite your head off faster than you know what happened.”

Stiles hid his chuckle behind a cough and a fist, and Lydia rolled her eyes before they landed on her husband, which meant that everything was back to normal and none of them had to drown in feelings. Derek nodded with his head towards where Lydia's attention had gone. “Jackson Whittemore, from Iowa. His parents are highly skilled lawyers and he's on his way to being in the same business. He and Lydia were married last year, and are the youngest couple to have the kind of money and power they possess in our ranks.”

“Why are their names hyphenated?” Stiles asked.

Lydia hummed as she picked up a glass of champagne. “Because I make more money than him, sweetheart,” she answered, and Derek chuckled softly at the way Stiles' eyebrows shot up, now extremely impressed. “You should probably avoid talking to Jackson. He's not as nice as me.”

Stiles eyes slid towards Derek, and he gave him a serious expression in return. Even though Lydia had somehow decided she liked the other male, she still wasn't the nicest person on the planet. In fact, if asked, she would say she had been extremely polite and overall friendly for the entire night.

“Oh, and that there,” Cora stepped forward a little, gesturing absentmindedly with her hand at a pretty blonde dressed in black across the room, curls cascading down her back. “Is Erica Reyes. She and her husband, Vernon Boyd, were middle class until he struck gold on some mining job. She's what mother calls _New Money_.”

“She's gorgeous,” Stiles breathed, and Derek had to agree with him. Erica Reyes was the kind of woman that could break necks when she walked into a room, and she knew it. That was why her breasts were about to fall out of her corset.

Lydia snorted. “She's a tramp,” she muttered under her breath, though Derek kind of had a feeling she couldn't stand having to share 'most beautiful woman in a room' with anyone else, and then pulled on Stiles' arm a little to nod towards a tall, dark skinned man. “Daniel Mahealani--”

“He makes cars!” Stiles said immediately, and both Derek and Lydia turned on him in equal curiosity. The most adorable blush appeared on Stiles' cheeks as he dipped his head, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand before suddenly remembering where he was. He was back in character almost immediately. “Um...I'll tell you later.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Lydia drawled. “Danny Mahealani, famous for the Mahealani automobiles. He's engaged this year, to some little nobody who is just inheriting money. Want to know what I think?” She leaned close to Stiles, a secret smile on her lips. “See the blonde waiter over there? He's Danny's personal manservant, Ethan. Just...watch them.”

And Stiles did, actually Derek did too. Ethan was doing his job earnestly, a soft smile on his face. Derek knew little to nothing about the boy, except that he and a brother of his-- maybe a twin? – had gotten into quite a bit of trouble a few years back and Ethan was working through the debt.

The boys passed each other more than once, brushing shoulders or bumping hands in what would have been an innocent matter if Lydia hadn't pointed it out. Though, the lingering looks were a little questionable...

Stiles was smirking. “Does anyone know?”

Lydia shrugged lightly. “Those who don't simply refuse to see it. Those who do refuse to say anything because everyone likes Danny. He's a good man.”

Stiles nodded, as if he understood, and for a moment his sleek demeanor seemed to slip as they approached a table that they were obviously about to be sitting at. “You'll sit by me, honey,” Lydia said, “and by miss Cora. That will put you across from Derek so hopefully you'll feel more comfortable that way.”

Stiles glanced back, and Derek simply nodded while Cora grinned. “That's Chris and Victoria Argent,” Derek said, introducing the last couple on their table. “Chris actually designed this ship, an the other men sitting around him helped...somehow.”

Stiles nodded. “And...that girl?” he asked, an Derek knew exactly who he was looking at. Kate stood the second they approached, smiling as she moved around the table, her black fur coat hanging off her dainty shoulders.

“Katherine Argent,” Lydia whispered as Derek let go of Cora's arm, stepping forward to take Kate's hand and lift her knuckles to his lips. “Derek's fiance.” He didn't look back, he couldn't, because he knew he wouldn't be able to stand the look on Stiles' face if he did.

“Derek, darling,” Kate said in greeting, smiling as he moved to pull out her chair. “I was just telling-- oh? Who's this?”

Derek did look back then, and nearly sighed in relief that Stiles' face was schooled into a neutral expression. Lydia was gone from his side already, making loving eyes at Jackson as he stood to greet her as well. Stiles took it upon himself to pull out Cora's chair, smiling at her overly girly delight.

“This is Mr. Claudius Stilinksi,” Derek explained. “Quite a talented artist Lydia and I were so lucky as to stumble upon this afternoon.”

“Yes,” Lydia agreed, backing him up without any hesitation. “I decided it would be quite an honor for him to join us for dinner.” Never in his entire life had he been so thankful for knowing Lydia Martin-Whittemore.

Kate eyed him suspiciously when Stiles finally jolted out a hand for a shake. She curled her lips, murmured a 'charmed, I'm sure', and then settled gracefully into her seat. Derek simply gave a quick shake of his head and Stiles nodded, dropping his hand.

“Stilinksi...” one of the other men on the table spoke as Stiles settled between the two girls, keeping his upright posture rather well. “Is that European?”

Stiles looked mildly amused, but his demeanor never wavered. He picked up his napkin from his empty plate, folding it before sitting it into his lap. “Yes sir it is. Perhaps you know my great aunt Miriam Stilinski? She's quite the art seller.”

The man bristled for a moment, but saved himself with a quick 'yes, yes of course' because the one thing people with money won't admit to is not knowing other people with money. Stiles smiled proudly, settling into the leather chair comfortably.

Dinner fell into the same pattern it always did, starting with the older men conversing about something or another while the women spoke about something else. With the addition of Stiles, however, the conversations would mix and stray to him, and then even Lydia and Jackson would pull away from themselves to listen, thought the latter with much more disdain. 

Stiles was an extraordinary liar. He had an entire story for how his family originated in Europe but moved to Washington, where he was born, and they made their money through art deals of every kind. When one man mentioned having not heard of them despite his own interest in art, Stiles quickly recovered by saying: “Well no sir, I figure you wouldn't, we're not really well known, you see.” And for whatever reason, that seemed to work.

Cora was fascinated by him, so much so Derek wondered for a moment if she had forgotten that he was the same man who had walked into their room in overly big clothing that hadn’t bathed for longer than he could remember. But Stiles played his part well. He took champagne when he was offered, drinking it smoothly as if it wasn't his first time, he ate through soup and salad with all the skill of someone who had been doing it his entire lifetime, and only once did his eyes go wide when steak, potatoes, vegetables, and warm bread were set in front of him. All of this went off without a hitch, except for one mumbled: 'is all of this for me?' about silverware to Lydia, who quickly told him to start from the inside and work his way out. After that, his performance was flawless.

The only people who weren't completely taken in by Stiles were Kate and Jackson, but he wasn't surprised. Jackson wasn't interested by anyone but himself, and when the conversation would turn to Stiles he would simply pout in his seat like a mistreated four year old.

And Kate couldn't stand his attention being deterred. He knew he was too taken by Stiles, because any time the other male spoke or smiled, Derek found his focus there instead of on his fiance, even if they had just been sharing a conversation.

He was nearly smiling at the way Stiles finished every bite of his steak, especially when none of the others had managed such a feat. It pained him for a moment, wondering how little Stiles' had to eat for himself. But Stiles simply smiled, patted his stomach, and tossed out some joke about being a growing boy. Everyone laughed. Even he chuckled.

 

 **Stiles** felt overwhelmed. He'd never been on the first class side of things before, never seen such architectural beauty, at least not up close. It was amazing, honestly, breathtaking in all the right ways, but it was so hard to _breathe_.

Suddenly, he found himself understating the Derek Hale he had talked down from jumping off the back of a ship. It was amazing here, a whole new world, but it was suffocating. The suit was uncomfortable, it was too warm and too itchy, and he was wondering when he could get it off.

The conversation was like a scripted dance, everyone was careful in what they said and twisted around answers with a grace that was obviously well versed. He remembered his mother once saying that women were 'catty', they spoke with politeness but every word was meant to cut. He understood that now.

The food made the entire night worth it. His mouth was watering the moment it was set before him, and each bite only proved to be better than the one before. He'd never had steak before, or vegetables that weren't cold, or bread that wasn't either burnt or stale. So yeah, for the food alone, he'd do this over and over.

The food and Derek made it worth it. Every time he looked up he'd find an emerald gaze on him, a smile threatening its way to the surface, a foot nudging against his. They were hard gazes to meet, some his self-esteem wasn't really ready to take, and he was glad for the shy downcast because that was when he would see her.

Kate Argent. She _hated_ him. He could feel it rolling off of her in waves, in narrowed brown eyes and a tightly drawn mouth. She would call Derek's attention back at her, and then she would glare, so strongly Stiles felt hollow.

Lydia would place a hand on his upper arm, squeeze lightly, and shoot him a smile that made him feel better. By the end of the night and a few glasses of champagne in, he no longer let Kate Argent bother him. And, before they left, he actually aimed a smirk her way. Because she could hate him all she wanted, but Derek would _never_ look at her the way he looked at him.

“Well, boys,” one of the older men stood, a smile on his face. “I think it's time for brandy and cigars. Claudius, will you be joining us?”

Stiles looked up at the sound of his name and shook his head, folding his napkin and sitting it on his empty plate as he stood. “I'm afraid I can't. I have to get back to my sister. She's fallen ill, perhaps seasick, and I hate to leave her alone for long.”

His eyes caught sight of one of the servers and he grinned. “Actually, if you wouldn't mind kind sir, could I get a plate to take back to her? I'm sure she would appreciate it.”

The server nodded before clearing his things and disappearing while the other men around the table stood, all saying goodbye to their significant others. Jackson Whittemore was glaring at him, but Lydia was keeping most of his attention, thankfully.

Stiles winked at him.

“I'll see you back to your room,” Derek decided, folding his napkin as well before standing. He leaned in and placed a kiss against Kate's cheek, offering her one of those tight curled smiles Stiles had come to see as faker than he was tonight. “It's only fair, given that Lydia and I pulled you away from your sister in the first place. And I'm sure she would much rather enjoy her tea time.”

“That I would,” Lydia answered, but she looked up and offered Stiles a smile, one he couldn't help but return. The server was back in the next moment, handing over a silver platter of mouthwatering food. Scott and Isaac were going to love him.

Derek gestured with his head for them to leave, and Stiles fell into easy step beside him. His eyes were glued on the spiral staircase, waiting until they reached it and then soon after their freedom. Once they were out of the double doors, Stiles felt himself relax.

Derek was smiling at him when he looked over, a soft and simple smile that barely reached his eyes, but it was a smile nonetheless. Stiles grinned.

“Would you like to see a real party now?”


	4. April 12th, 1912

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone! Sorry this chapter isn't as good as the others, I just needed to get through it. For whatever reason it just didn't like me :/

**Derek** probably should have said no, but he was beginning to learn he didn't have it in him to fight that grin of Stiles', so he said yes. It was already dark when they made it outside and Stiles took his wrist, pulling them over towards the railings. Derek's eyebrows pushed together, watching as Stiles leaned over the bars, hands protectively holding onto the platter of food, and looked up with a smile on his face. Slowly, Derek pulled his gaze from the boy and up at the sky as well. 

Derek had never really seen the stars before. He'd always lived in brightly lit cities or never taken a moment to give them a second thought when they traveled. After a moment he took a step forward, folding his arms over the top rail and keeping his head tilted back to look at the little white lights that speckled the sky. They made him realize just how big the world was. “You're a good liar,” he mumbled, breaking the silence that had settled around them. 

“Almost as good as you,” Stiles shot back before looking over at him with a smile. He was beautiful, really, with his thin frame, light skin cascaded with moles, those amber eyes, the way his nose upturned just the slightest at the end, the way his hair was fighting already to break through the gel Lydia had forced through it, the way his smile was small and soft...but the lines etched into his face promised that he was capable of so much more. 

Derek shook his head as he pushed away, hands in his pockets while he walked towards the stairs. The air was stagnant for the night, the water smooth, the awful smell of salt either lessened or he was becoming accustomed to it. 

He knew the way down to the third class deck, having found it accidentally the first night there when he attempted to jump off the back of the ship. Honestly...he was surprised he hadn't tried again yet, but he'd been mildly distracted. And the source of that distraction soon stepped up next to him. The silence was comfortable, which was...nice for a change. Especially coming from Stiles, who rarely ever stopped talking. 

Walking on the outer layers of the ship, the change between classes wasn't that noticeable, so when Stiles turned the corner to the interior, Derek was slightly surprised. Gone were the plush red and gold carpeting, the paintings lining the walls, the chandeliers a foot or two between each other. There were no carpets down here, only wood and bare white walls, a dim light fixture every five or ten feet. 

Stiles was completely at home, undoing the buttons on his jacket as he practically bounced down the hall. He looked out of place now, in that borrowed suit. As well as he had played tonight, Derek knew where he belonged, and it was definitely down here. 

They didn't have to walk long before Stiles was patting down his pockets with one hand, twisting and turning before he finally pulled out a key and opened one of the doors. Derek didn't follow him inside...in fact, he wasn't even sure he could fit. The entire room was the size of Cora's walk in closet back home, nothing in there except for two bunk-beds which were so close together Derek doubted his shoulders could fit between them. 

He knew which bed belonged to Stiles before he even had to think about it. It was the bottom bunk on the left side of the room, flannel blankets unruly, covered in portfolios and a case of art supplies that had been left open. There was a green knapsack shoved unceremoniously between the bed and the wall, open with things spilling out of it. 

The bed above that one was unmade too, but relativity empty of any belongings. Stiles focus wasn't on his own things though, instead he was crouched in front of the bed that was opposite of his, dropping the platter of food carefully there. That bunk was covered in things, top and bottom, though the top bed was made, two knapsacks the only thing occupying it. 

“Fourth roommate never show?” 

Stiles looked up at him, the bed in front of him and the bed over it, before his mouth slowly curved into a smirk. “Sure,” he said, jumping to his feet and tossing his suit jacket onto his bed before he jerked off the bow tie around his neck. He put one hand on Derek's chest, pushing him back and closing the door behind them both. 

Stiles grabbed him by the wrist again, but the only objection he gave was a sigh of mild annoyance before he was being pulled down the halls. It surprised him when they ended up taking another staircase downward, honestly he didn't know there was anything below the third class landing on the ship. Not anywhere that they could actually go, at least, but Stiles obviously had a destination in mind. 

They twisted down a dark hallway, Stiles practically running and Derek fighting back a smile as they made their way. He could hear music somewhere, but there wasn't enough lights to see where from, and then Stiles was pushing open a door. The room they entered was large, about as big as the dining hall upstairs but mostly empty. It was made out of wood, oak maybe, and lined with tables like a school cafe would be. Poles went through most of the middle of them, holding them in place or holding the landing above them up. It was poorly lit, the lights that worked dimmed by piles and piles of smoke. There were so many people. 

The music was loud, off beat, and yet oddly exhilarating at the same time. They were playing on anything they could, beating wooden spoons against wooden tables, humming with their mouths, stomping their feet. Someone had a flute, maybe something with strings, but Derek wasn't even sure if it could be considered _music_. 

On top of one of the tables, two men were dancing, their shirt sleeves rolled up to their elbows and suspenders hanging down over their hips. They danced around the pillar, one clasping the others hand as they went. They seemed familiar, but he wouldn't know why. 

There were women everywhere, twirling in circles with their skirts hiked up, dancing closer to a man than should be appropriate, passing out drinks. And that was when Derek realized that _everyone_ had a drink. The smell of cheap beer and smoke was overwhelming...and yet Derek felt like this was the first time he had _breathed_ in months. 

Stiles tossed a grin over his shoulder before he jumped up on the table the two men Derek had noticed earlier were dancing on. They stopped, and the shorter dark haired one with an uneven jawline and the brownest eyes Derek had ever seen cracked up laughing. “Stiles! My man!” 

Derek recognized him then, the friends Stiles had introduced him to that morning. The dark haired one was Scott, the other-- 

“Watch yourself before Isaac steals your virtue!” Stiles called, laughing above the music. The other male, tall with blonde curls and bright blue eyes, cracked up and grabbed the pillar before leaning over and grinning at Stiles. “Too late!” 

Stiles cracked up again before his amber graze slid over to Derek. “Do you dance?” 

Derek's own eyes went wide. “Not if I can avoid it.” 

Stiles grinned, and it was a grin Derek was beginning to realize he didn't like because it never meant good things for him. “Come on!” Stiles was up again, grabbing one of Derek's hands. He pushed down the need to jerk it away and found himself pulled into the swinging motion every one else was in. “I don't know the moves!” he complained. 

Stiles shrugged. “Me either! Just go with it!” 

Derek frowned, looking at the others. No, it didn't seem like there actually were any moves, everyone was kind of just doing their own thing. He turned his eyes on Stiles, deepening his scowl, but Stiles was having none of it. He grabbed both of his hands and just started swinging. 

Derek fought it for awhile, but then suddenly there were drinks in his hand, Stiles was laughing and shaking his head, saying something about how Derek couldn't handle it. Derek raised one eyebrow, kept eye contact, and downed the entire thing in one go. 

There was cheering around him, wolf whistles from both Scott and Isaac, and Stiles was looking at him...with admiration. His eyes went from wide to impressed to...a sexy as hell little challenging smirk. 

He lost hours worth of time in spinning, drinks, the sound of his shoes against wood, the sound of Stiles' laugh, the sound of his own laugh that he couldn't remember hearing before. Stiles would grin at him, eyes shinning, before slamming another drink in his hand. The dance was addictive. The beer was addictive. _Stiles_ was addictive. 

They were in some sort of line up when he caught sight of Stiles' friends again, collapsed on a table top somewhere, limbs wrapped around each other, hands in hair, lips locked. Derek gaped, remembering how careful Danny and Ethan had been earlier, remembering how before tonight...he'd never really considered the possibility of two men together, despite what his mind thought about a certain Stiles Stilinski. “Is that okay here?” 

Stiles looked at him in confusion over another drink, finally following his gaze. “Scott and Isaac?” he asked. “That's not okay anywhere...but everyone's too drunk, they'll forget.” 

Derek wouldn't. 

Derek wouldn't, because hours later in the darkness of the very early morning, they were tumbling down the hallways, just the two of them, drinks in hand and laughing. He couldn't remember where the pieces of his suit had gone, or Stiles' for that matter, just that they were both down to pants and a shirt, untucked, hair unruly. 

No one was around when Derek sighed and slouched against a wall, running a hand through his hair. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I needed that.” 

Stiles simply grinned and lifted on his toes slightly, then their mouths were pressed together. Derek pulled away, fast, eyes wide. Truth was, he was too drunk to care...too drunk to wonder what was wrong or right...too drunk to fight the feelings in his chest. 

Stiles leaned into him, hands on either side of his face, amber eyes searching. “Just...ask me to stop...” he murmured, and when Derek didn't say a word, he was leaning in again. It started out hesitant, soft lips sliding over his, and when Derek didn't move this time...Stiles leaned up. Their lips molded perfectly. 

When Stiles pulled away, his amber eyes were bright, a smile was on his face. “You better get home, sourwolf,” he murmured, stealing one more chaste kiss. “Before someone notices you're missing.” 

He didn't want to, that was the thing. He wanted to stay there forever, he wanted more than a couple of kisses, he wanted...Stiles. 

When he didn't move, a slow smile curved over the younger males face and he slid up Derek's body, his arms reaching slowly up and over his head, Derek's hands curved over Stiles', then their lips were together again. 

“Go home,” Stiles whispered one last time. “I'll see you in the morning.” 

 

 **Stiles** winced as he woke, blinking light from his eyes. Fucking white walls being too fucking bright even in the fucking bad lighting. He groaned as he rolled on his stomach, reaching up to push a pillow over his head. 

He heard a chuckle across the room, and knew then that his friends were awake. With a sigh he moved the pillow only slightly, peaking at the happy couple across from him. Isaac still had his back on the bed, curls disheveled, one knee propped up. Scott was cuddled up to his side on the small twin bed, blankets around his waist, hair a mess and a happy, soft smile on his face, both shirtless. They were cute first thing in the morning, Stiles had a lot of portraits to prove that fact, but today he just wasn't feeling it, so he scowled for good measure. 

“Well good morning to you too,” Scott snorted, and Stiles shot him the middle finger before folding his arms under his pillow and resting his head there. 

“Be nice to me, I brought ya'll food.” 

Isaac's foot nudged something at the foot of their bed, and upon closer examining Stiles noticed the silver food container he'd brought down the night before. “Scott said we should wait for you before eating, see if you wanted some.” 

Stiles shook his head. “Na, I ate as much as I could when I had the chance, I honestly don't think I'll have to eat again all week...though, if I'm lucky, Derek might treat me again...” And somehow in his foggy mind, Stiles suddenly remembered how the night had ended. 

It all came back, standing in the middle of the hallway with Derek pressing him against the wall, Stiles' hands fisted into his shirt to bring him closer, hot breaths being shared in small spaces. It took longer to get Derek back up the stairs than he had planned...turned out his first-class gentleman could be demanding when he wanted. 

“You have the same wildly turned on face as Scott does,” Isaac murmured. “I'm torn between gagging and being aroused...” 

Scott elbowed him as he sat up, and Stiles winced for a moment as he wondered if he was going to have to cover his eyes but thankfully the boys were clothed from the waist down, in thin cotton pants but nothing else. “Wait,” Scott mumbled as he grabbed the tray, sitting back against the wall. “Did you say...so he took you out?” 

“Did you think I got into a first class dinner party by myself?” He didn't even manage to sit up fully before two pairs of eyes were on him, equally judging, each with an eyebrow raised. 

Stiles tried pulling an innocent face as he sat against the wall, but it obviously wasn't working, so he let out a puff of air before running both his hands through his hair. He could still fill the stiffness of leftover gel, but he didn't mind so much because it was still cleaner than usual. “Alright, yeah, so that's something I'd do.” 

Isaac shook his head as he took off the lid of their food, picking up the long chilled steak and ripping it in half before handing one piece to his boyfriend. Scott sat back with a smile on his face, chewing thoughtfully. Stiles sighed, “You should've had it warm...it was amazing.” 

“It's pretty good the way it is,” Scott muttered, and Stiles had to nod in agreement because honestly...they were no strangers to cold food...especially meat. They would share it all without a problem, because that was just the way they were, but Stiles wished he could have taken them with him the night before... 

Isaac was eying him funny and Stiles finally raised his eyebrows at him. They weren't the best of friends. In fact Stiles always figured they kind of only dealt with each other because they were connected by Scott, but they got along well enough usually. Enough to say they _were_ friends...or maybe even brothers, just the kind that fought and sort of hated each other. “What?” he finally asked. 

And there went the puppy dog look. Stiles honestly had no idea how Isaac did it, one moment he could go from serious badass to _actual fucking kicked puppy_ and it was a talent he would just never fully understand. “Just...be careful, would you?” 

Stiles deflated, there was the action to back up his 'like brothers' statement, because even when he and Isaac didn't get along, they looked out for each other. “I will,” he promised, and after a catching of gazes and a curt nod from both parties, the moment was over. 

“So,” Scott placed his feet at the edge of the bed, chewing thoughtfully before continuing. “What was it like, up there?” 

Isaac snorted. “Forget about the boring shit. I wanna know about this guy.” 

Stiles grinned. Leave it to Isaac to want to know the gossip. Honestly, the boy was a romantic at heart, even if he tried to pretend differently. Stiles shrugged a little though, smoothing one hand over his rough hair, trying to hide the blush. “He's...complicated,” he finally answered, because honestly, what word better fit Derek Hale? 

“He...he drives me crazy. He's kind of infuriating and I kind of hate his face because it's so gawddamned beautiful and...you know, there's something about him that makes me just want to know _more_ , to really understand him. And...I feel like...I feel like I could sit and listen to him for hours...he doesn't talk a lot though. Doesn't smile a lot either. I just...I want to spend every fucking day trying to make that smile come back, ya know?” 

When he glanced up again, Scott and Isaac were staring at each other, similar smiles on their faces. “What?” Stiles asked, because he hated it when they got like that, when they were communicating just through looks or something. Like they knew something Stiles didn't. 

“Dude.” Scott ripped a piece of steak apart with his teeth. “You are so in love.” 

 

**Derek's** head was killing him. He couldn't exactly remember the last time since he had drank that much. Then again, drinking cheap beer and drinking fine wine were two completely different things. He smiled to himself as he thought about the look on Stiles' face as he drowned his first drink. 

“Something amusing, darling?” Kate asked, bringing Derek's head up. His eyes narrowed on her slightly, but never quite enough to full out glare at her. They were having breakfast just between the two of them, in an area that was as close to a sunroom as a ship could pull off. 

Kate looked beautiful, as always, in a light green gown, her dirty blonde hair cascading softly down her shoulders. Sitting as prim and proper as always as she cut into her eggs. Derek sighed softly, running his fingers through his hair before picking up his own sivlerware. “No, love.” 

She hummed softly, a trick he just _knew_ she had picked up from Lydia. “Really?” she asked, looking up at him momentarily as she lifted a bite of eggs to her lips. She chewed, looking off somewhere above his head, before focusing back down at his plate. “Because one would think the idea of you at a third class party would definitely be... _amusing_.” 

Derek slowly raised an eyebrow, wondering how much she knew or how much she thought she knew. True, he had been down there, but he hadn't noticed anyone follow them. And surely...surely he would have. “I don't have the slightest clue what you are talking about.” 

“Jackson said you never showed for brandy and cigars last night,” she continued, “and that when he went looking for you, he saw you circle down the staircase onto the third class landing. You weren't home by the time _I_ returned, so one can only assume,” she pressed her silverware down against her plate so hard Derek was surprised that it didn't crack, “that you were a part of one of those god awful parties.” 

Derek sat back slowly, his head was still pounding from all the awful sunlight so he figured he was irritated enough that he would regret this moment later, but as for the time being he just wasn’t in the mood for this. “Or, maybe, Kate if you cared enough to ask me you would know that I walked down there because I wasn't feeling so good after meeting Mr. Stilinski's sister, and I felt better with the cool air around me so I decided that I would stay there, where if I hurled over the side of the boat it might not accidentally hit someone.” Maybe he was picking up a bit of acting skills from his new friend. 

“How thoughtful of you.” 

He _hated_ her. He hated her judgmental gaze, he hated her stiff posture, and more than anything he hated the fact that he was having to sit here and explain himself to her. His fingers curled into a fist around his fork and then suddenly...he couldn't breathe. 

The drowning feeling sucked him under so fast he barely even saw it coming. His clothing constricted, air left his lungs, and his vision went black around the edges. How long had it been since he'd felt this way? An entire day? 

_An entire day with Stiles_. 

He kept his gaze drawn at the food in front of him, hands curled into fists, refusing to fall apart. Not now and definitely not in front of her. 

“I don't want you spending time with them anymore, Derek,” Kate said, but he could barely hear her through the rumbling in his ears. She sounded so far away, definitely not less than two feet from him. “Lydia... _Stilinski_ , they're bad for you.” 

This kind of drowning was the worse, where he felt like he was just at the surface and any minute he could break through but he just wasn't close enough and he was going to die like that. Just that simple. Just waiting. “I'm your fiance, Kate, not a servant you can order around to not have any friends.” 

She was across the table so fast that for a moment he wasn't even completely sure what had happened, just the stinging after shock, the soft squeal of one of the maids in the corner. He rose his fingers to the cut that appeared on his cheek, glanced at the knife in her hand, and gave a dry laugh. 

He could breathe again. The pain knocked him out of it. So fast that he still felt a burning in his lugs, a bitter aftertaste.“You're right,” Kate said through gritted teeth. “You're my _fiance_ Derek Hale-DeWitt, and I'll be _damned_ if I let you get away from me. I'll do whatever it takes for it to just be you and me.” She smiled darkly then, folding her napkin and dropping it on the table. “I already have.” 

The maid moved from her spot the moment Kate was out the door, wetting a napkin and going to tend to his face. Derek shook his head, placing a gentle hand on her should before pushing himself up. “It's fine,” he muttered softly. “I'm fine.” 

 

 **Stiles** slept most of the day away, in fact so did Isaac and Scott, all suffering from hangovers and a lack of sleep to begin with. When he finally got up the other two boys were gone, along with their ever absent fourth roommate that no one really cared for.

He rolled out of bed, wincing when he realized he was still wearing a suit...or, well, black dress pants and a white pressed shirt that was only holding on by one button. Thing was, he wasn't even completely sure where the rest of it was.

He pulled it off and folded it neatly on the edge of the bed, figuring it didn't matter where the other pieces went because he surely wouldn't be returning it. Didn't seem like Jackson was going to miss it anyway. He wasn't sure if he would ever need a suit again, but who knew where he would end up in a couple of years...

Stiles threw on his cotton pants, his old shirt, and slid suspenders over his arms before grabbing his portfolio and making his way up to the deck. Scott and Isaac where there when he made it, kicking a ball back and forth to each other and a couple of kids.

Stiles chuckled as he flopped down next to the railings, soaking in the feeling of the warm sun on his skin and the salty breeze running through his hair. His head still hurt a little, but it wasn't anything he couldn't deal with.

He flipped open his portfolio, pulling a pencil from the pocket of his over sized pants. He thought about the stars the night before to sketch, easily running granite over the cheap paper. He didn't use it all, just a small corner, since it was only for fun.

For awhile, he was left to himself, occasionally closing his eyes and running over memories of the night before, of the taste of cheap beer and Derek, the sound of his laugh...It'd been surprisingly light and airy for someone whose voice was so deep.

He ended up laying on one of the benches, arm thrown over his eyes, enjoying the heat and the sound of others around him. Scott and Isaac were still playing with the kids, they were good with kids oddly enough. Kids and animals.

“Hey Stiles,” Scott called, and Stiles tilted his head just enough to watch his friend kick the ball off , the little children taking off after it and giggling at the challenge. “Isn't that your boytoy?”

Stiles shook his head, flat out refusing to get up because he was comfortable, but eventually the curiosity was killing him. He folded his portfolio, placing it on the ground beside his spot before he stood up, joining Isaac and Scott.

When he tilted his head up, he found that it was Derek after all, dressed to the nines like the way he always was. He was standing up on the first class deck, arms folded over the rails, watching the waves. There were no smiles now, even this far away Stiles could tell he looked conflicted about something. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth, wondering if what was on the older males mind would lead him back to actions such as jumping off the back of a ship.

As if he could feel his gaze, Derek's emerald eyes were suddenly meeting Stiles' own, but there was no smiling or other acknowledgment of any kind, he just stared.

“What happened to his face?” Isaac asked behind him.

Stiles frowned as he focused on the red, violent cut on the older male's cheek. “I don't know,” he whispered, feeling an odd sense of possessiveness swell up in his chest. “But I'm going to find out.”


	5. April 13th, 1912

**Derek** couldn't stop staring at him. It was because of that same beauty he'd realized the day before...the same intangible pull of messy brown hair and amber eyes. He found himself watching Stiles Stilinski like he was a rare piece of art...something to be valued and appreciated, loved and cared for, and man...how Derek wanted to spend the rest of his life doing that.

He'd managed yesterday alone. After breakfast with Kate and a blaring hangover the rest of the day that Cora was determined to aggravate, Derek just decided he needed some time to himself...some time where this infuriating boy wasn't clouding his every thought. Kate, at the time being, had made it her personal mission to watch his every movement.

He was surprised she'd managed, honestly. Kate was the kind of woman who liked to be out and about, doing something or another, which was how he found himself with so much free time. But yesterday she had stayed while he'd sat on the couch and attempted to read his book. It kind of made him sad...because he wished he had someone who could just enjoy being that way with him, because Kate obviously couldn't. Apparently the boredom had been too much to take because today she'd decided babysitting him and making sure he stayed away from bad influences -- like Lydia and Stiles -- was a waste of time.

For awhile, Derek had honestly thought he could do what she asked of him. He didn't need some little smart mouth from third class in his life. In fact, he was probably a lot better without him. They'd saved each others lives and gone to some fun parties, all debts were repaid, life needed to go back to normal.

But as it turns out, Stiles Stilinksi had _ruined_ him. An entire day without him felt like the world was crashing down and he was...drowning. The feeling was back, and Stiles was his lifeline, the voice that was talking him down from dying. Derek needed him. So that was how he had ended up on the first class deck just before nightfall, how he had looked down and locked eyes with Stiles once again. 2,207 people on the ship and yet Derek still managed to find _him_.

So when he woke up this morning with no Kate to be found, he threw on one of his more simple suits and made his way down to the bottom of the ship, knowing that eventually he would find Stiles. All classes were allowed down here, but stuck to themselves. Derek found a pillar on the less populated side of the boat, lighting up a cigar and taking a moment to just...enjoy things. He'd never really done that before Stiles, never thought to appreciate the clear blue sky or the way the water rolled. He wasn't even really thinking about him when Stiles showed up with his classic, “Hey, sourwolf.”

Derek's lips curved into a smile of their own will, a movement he hid behind another puff of smoke and sudden interest in the ground. He hadn't figured out the reasoning behind the nickname yet, but it seemed to fit him regardless. They'd just stood there for awhile, never really having to say anything, and that was when Derek realized he was staring. That was when he realized how many moles Stiles actually had cascading down his neck when he tilted his head, or how his eyes seemed even brighter when the sun hit him just right, or how he would smile sheepishly when he realized Derek was _still_ looking at him.

Derek finished off his cigar, putting it out and sliding his hands in his pockets before he followed Stiles' gaze to the nose of the boat, where the younger male's attention had been ever since joining him. Even this far out, he could recognize Stiles' friends. Scott was standing on the rails, one below the top, arms spread wide and brown hair blowing back as if he was in flight or something. Isaac was still on the deck, feet braced and hands on Scott's waist, unruly curls dancing in the light breeze.

After everything he had seen between the two males...the comparison to Danny and Ethan...he now knew the signs. He could see how closely they stood together, how Isaac's hands on his boyfriend's hips were a little too loving...it was almost glaringly obvious and yet amazingly subtle at the same time. Like one wouldn't notice if they didn't know what to look for.

“How do you know them?” Derek finally asked, breaking the silence on purpose. While he liked moments of serenity, he knew Stiles was probably dying to talk...and while that could be exhausting sometimes, Derek liked his voice. He liked the way he spoke, the gruff undertones to an otherwise high pitch, the words he used and the occasional sound affects. And honestly...Derek could use a distraction from his...everything else.

Stiles tore his gaze off of his friends, tilting his head to look at Derek, smirking softly as if there was a big joke Derek should understand but just didn't. “Scott and Isaac?” he asked, as if Derek could be talking about anyone else, and rolled his eyes when the only answer he got was an unamused raised eyebrow from the older man. He chuckled under his breath before pulling absently at his suspenders. “Um...I met Scott...I don't really remember, actually. He's just kind of always been there. Like an annoying puppy that won't go away.” 

Derek snorted, looking back over at the water now. Yeah, he liked Stiles' voice...enough so that he could listen to it all day. Actually, that was a boldfaced lie, he liked Stiles' _story telling_ voice...calm and collected. “Yeah, I bet _he_ was the puppy.”

“Do you want to hear my story or not?” Stiles asked, humor dancing in his eyes as he gave Derek a pointed look. Derek exhaled through his nostrils, giving Stiles a look of his own, but didn't say a word. Eventually, Stiles grinned, and continued. “We grew up together, back in California. Born and raised small town kids. Our fathers were both fishers...I guess maybe that's how we met, being dragged to work all the time... Anyway, our home town didn't really have a lot of people so most of the men had more than one job, so our dads helped out law enforcement a lot too.”

Derek smiled to himself, following Stiles' general rambling with ease. He was beginning to feel like he'd known this kid forever, not just a couple of days. Like he understood him...knew his mannerisms and how to deal with him...It was an odd feeling, a little overpowering even.

“Scott's dad was an asshole and a half, took off when Scott was twelve for some other woman and leaving a trail of unknown kids in his path. His mom is good people though, one of the few nurses around...” Stile's voice grew a little quieter for a moment before he went on. “My mom was a baker...before she got sick... made some of the best cobbler in the world. It was so good people would seek us out for that, from all over the place...”

Stiles paused long enough that Derek looked back over at him. The boys gaze was focused on the water, only Derek knew he wasn't seeing it. He was gone somewhere in his past, but after a second he cleared his throat and went back to talking.“We grew up on shitty boats back home, always getting in trouble for one thing or another. After my mom though...and then his dad...we just couldn't really manage to stay there anymore. So when we were thirteen we hitchhiked down to Nervada. Which is hot as hell, by the way. And then for the next...I don't know, year or so we just kind of kicked it any way we could.”

When Derek was thirteen his life had been surrounded by school and overly strict violin lessons. He didn't detest his childhood in the least, he'd been happy growing up, but looking back at it now...he could have never left home at that age, much less actually made it by himself. 

“How did you...” Derek faltered, the question right on the edge of his tongue though he wasn't really sure how to phrase it. He wanted to know how Stiles and Scott had done it...been on their own, without help from anyone else. He had a feeling he knew... All of his life he'd been taught that the third class were dirty, terrible people, just waiting to get their hands in your pockets, and by the stories Stiles had told before he knew they hadn't been _completely_ wrong but...

But he'd never considered them real _people_. People like him, who could miss their dead parents, who could go hungry, who took long showers just because it was warm. People who could draw, smile, and laugh like Stiles could. People who, with the entire world against them, still found a way to get up in the morning. They weren't these creatures everyone needed to be afraid of. 

In the scheme of things...Stiles Stilinski had so little, but so much more than Derek himself would ever have... _'The poor man will find happiness in his friends and family, but misery in his materials. The rich man will find happiness in his materials, but misery in his cage'_

Stiles chuckled , bringing Derek back to the conversation at hand. The younger male rearranged the way he was standing, smirk back in place.“Ah...Scott's a really good actor. I mean, gawddamn, if you thought I was good at dinner the other night...I learned it all from him. He can lie his way into things and out of them so good sometimes he even has _me_ convinced. And I've always been a little bit cunning. One time, we somehow got ahold of a twenty dollar bill...I asked for change for that thing three fucking different times, always talking someone's head off for so long they never realized I didn't actually give them the twenty.”

Stiles shook his head a little, chuckling under his breath as he no doubt remembered other events. “Anyway, we were scrawny little shits, for the first few years or so we could pick pockets in the blink of an eye and store ourselves away in the smallest of cracks. Sometimes we could go places without people ever knowing they had carry on's.”

“We traveled the world for awhile,” he went on, “jumping state after state. We were fifteen when we were hiding out in this automobile and next thing we know...we're over water. Worst fucking trip of my life, they don't store much food on ferries meant for cars. Never been so gawddamnd lucky that we knew how to fish until then.”

“Where'd you end up?” Derek asked, not at all lost on the irony that he was actually becoming interested in the story. He knew that there was more in between the outline, of small crimes and adventure and maybe a few times where they didn't win, but he was still interested...interested enough that he didn't feel like stopping Stiles for more details. He could save that stuff for later.

Stiles grinned, tossing his head back so the look wasn't lost on Derek. “Ireland,” he answered. “That's where we met Isaac. It was...probably our third night there when we snuck into the cemetery--”

Derek's eyebrows shot up his forehead, because of anything in the world he hadn't been expecting Stiles to say that. “What were you doing in a cemetery?” More importantly even, Isaac didn't strike him as the kind of guy to _work_ in a cemetery. The job wasn't easy, for obvious reasons dealing with death and corpses and sadness, but also because of physical labor and dangers. Shooting a glance at the curly headed male though, he could easily see how Isaac could be a grave digger. He was tall and lanky, but there were obvious muscles pulling under his clothing. He was strong, no doubt about it.

Stiles shot him another one of those 'be quiet and let me finish' looks, which Derek actually did without much of an annoyed scowl. “Anyway, we snuck into the cemetery not thinking anyone would be working that late at night, but Isaac was, digging a new grave that Scott promptly fell into, the idiot. I was trying not to get caught but Isaac...well, Isaac was pissed, he has a bit of an anger problem. So he jumped down in there and started yelling about grave robbers and what not--” he paused just long enough to scoff, leading Derek to know that was _exactly_ what they had been doing “--when Scott just grabbed him by his suspenders and planted one right no him. Shit you not.”

If possible, Derek knew his eyebrows only inched up higher. “Wh...” he was shocked, he couldn't even imagine initiating a kiss... “Just like that? But what if...what if he wasn't...you know?”

Stiles shrugged in a way that said he clearly didn't blame Derek for not saying the word out loud, turning his gaze up to the sky. “I don't know,” he answered honestly. “Probably would have talked his damn way out of it, most likely. Anyway, after that they couldn't quite leave each other alone. We liked Ireland too, thought we might stay, but turns out Isaac's dad was a fucking asshole as well. You know, the kind that likes smacking kids around just because they can. We left a couple of months after being there, taking Isaac with us. Went to Spain, France, Italy, Germany and Norway, always staying a little longer in the places we liked. Like Paris, we all loved Paris.”

“We kept in touch with our parents, ya know? 'Cause that was the hardest part about leaving...So about six months into being sixteen I get this letter from Scott's mom saying my dad almost had a heart attack, but she caught it in time. Anyway...I don't know, it just really scared me, so I...I left Scott and Isaac for awhile and went home. My dad was fine, just a little shaken up, so I just spent some time with him and made him promise to take care of himself. He and Scott's mom are planning on getting married soon, go fucking figure. Anyway, she promised not to let anything happen to him so after a few months I hitched a few rides and made it to New York.”

“I liked it there, so I stuck around for awhile until a ship came in. People liked me there too, I sold a lot of drawings and hung out with a lot of cool people. I thought about staying, honestly, but...I needed Scott and Isaac, ya know? So I went to London and found the boys again then...we stayed there for awhile but...decided to come back to the States. Maybe go see our parents get married, let Isaac meet Scott's mom.” Stiles shrugged.

Derek was...impressed. He hadn't been a lot of places in his life. Mostly just home...around the States a bit if his parents had work. He'd only ever really left once, which was the reason he was on the Titanic in the first place, for Kate. Of course, it was hard not to be on a ship that your future-in-laws had worked on. Especially one that would undoubtedly be as historic as the Titanic.

Stiles was grinning at him, so much so that Derek schooled his face back into his usual scowl. He never said a word, but apparently his open expression from earlier had said enough for him because Stiles gave him a slightly exasperated chuckle before looking away again. “You seem impressed.” Amber peaked out of the corner of his eye, a little smirk appearing on his face. Derek scowled harder, so Stiles eventually turned, leaning one arm against the pillar and completely facing him now. “Your turn.”

Derek's eyebrows furrowed as he stared down at Stiles. “For what?” he asked.

Stiles shrugged his free shoulder, a glint in his eyes that Derek very much didn't like. Something between knowing he'd get his way, being a sarcastic little shit, and a dash of sadness. “Your life story,” he answered, and when Derek starts to shake his head he quickly follwed with, “or Kate, or how you got that cut on your face.”

Oh yeah. Derek had almost forgotten about the slice across his cheek. He pulled one hand free from his pocket, pressing two fingers to the tender skin. It was deep and he knew it, enough he probably could have used stitches but he didn't bother. One more scar to the collection wouldn't change anything. The only thing that bothered him was where it sat, just a few centimeters above the line of his beard. He could have hidden it, but Kate had to make a statement. The ironic thing was that it would infuriate her when it scared.

“I was born in Maryland,” he finally ground out through clinched teeth. There was no way he was breaching one of the other subjects, the latter of which would undoubtedly get the younger male worked up and Stiles thus far had proved to be a bit unpredictable. “I came from old money so I never did much. Life revolved around school and lessons of skill or art. I was one out of seven, sandwiched between two girls. Cora, who you've met, is the baby of the family. I've known Kate since I was your age and we got engaged less than three months ago. And, basically, I hate my life. And that's everything.”

He and Stiles stared at each other for a long moment. In all honesty, Derek was waiting for Stiles to challenge him. To say that that wasn't enough information, or that there had to be more to it than that, or still insist to know about his relationship with Kate. But the longer they faced off, Stiles didn’t say a word. Finally, he grinned slowly. “I think you kind of like me though.”

There's only on beat of silence between them before Stiles is reaching out, curling his fingers into Derek's pressed white shirt and dragging him off. Derek doesn't ask where they're going, doesn't utter a word, even though he's sure he should. In the next moment Stiles has a door open, pushing him backwards into what one could only assume was a storage closest.

 

 **Stiles** had no idea where his moment of complete confidence had come from. Sure, he had messed around a couple of times with people in the past, but he'd never been the instigator. In fact, if someone had told him _he'd_ be the one to push _Derek Hale_ into a dark room he probably would have died from a fit of laughter.

In that moment, it'd come so easily to make a move like that. He'd only ever really felt sexual tension that strongly between Scott and Isaac before, and being on the receiving end of it was...doing things to him.

But now here they are, with a door swinging shut behind them and he immediately falters in hesitation, his momentary confidence gone in the blink of an eye. It's not like he hasn't kissed Derek before...or let his hands wonder...but things are different this time. For one, they're both completely sober and presumably well rested and...if they go through with this there's nothing to blame it on. No cheap booze, no questionable decisions, just the fact that they both _want_ it. And in the past, Stiles has always been able to use one escape route or another.

He thinks back to Derek's shock over Scott and Isaac's own little romance story and a new panic rises in his throat. How does he even know what Derek wants? For crying out loud, the man was engaged...to a woman.Happiness was obviously questionable, attraction was an entirely different subject. While his mind was busy spinning out of control, he's suddenly slammed up against the wall, one of Derek's hands wrapped up in his shirt, and then those sinful lips are pressed against his.

Stiles actually flails, but it doesn't do much to break the kiss, and eventually he falls into it. He's not surprised by how soft Derek's mouth is, or how he doesn't taste like beer or sweat this time...he tastes like tea and faintly of cigar smoke and...something that's the same from last time, something that's just essentially Derek...and Stiles _loves it_.

Just as he was beginning to get lost in it, as Derek's grip on him loosed, those lips were suddenly moving. Across his chin, down his neck, stubble scratching softly as he moved. Stiles sighed, tilting his head to make more room, because holy shit...

“Do you think we'll go to hell for this?”

The question threw Stiles so far off he wasn't even sure how he got back into the moment. For one thing, he definitely didn't peg Derek for the religious type, but he figured that was pretty predominate for first class families. Even if they weren't believers, it was like...a requirement or something.

Stiles himself actually believed, but only because his mother had, and she'd drag all their butt's to church Sunday morning no matter what. He'd spent a lot of time mad at God after her death, but at some point it'd just kind of...subsided. He hadn't been back to church since her funeral, but he still prayed every once and awhile. For her, mostly, because everyone knew no one was listening to him.

Forcing the thoughts from his head, Stiles chuckled and placed both of his hands on Derek's chest, pushing the man against the opposite wall before stepping up. His confidence was back, along with a _want_ stronger than he had ever felt before. He pushed away at the black jacket Derek was wearing, quickly going to work on buttons as his mouth latched onto the other male's addams apple. “I don't know about you, sourwolf, but I'm already on my way to hell.” He grinned against Derek's neck as his hands finally touched skin, and...gawddamn, Derek was hiding abs under all those layers of clothes. He groaned softly, shifting slightly, needing so much more...

Derek chuckled, a sound that rumbled low and deep in his throat, but cracked just enough that Stiles knew he was doing something right. The extra boost of confidence was enough to make him lower his lips to the mans collar bone, then lower, enjoying the taste of soaps and just him. “I have to go to church tomorrow morning,” Derek muttered, which was probably the reason behind the earlier question. “After this...how am I supposed to survive that?”

“Mm...think about me?” Stiles asked, knowing that surely that wasn't the proper answer but his mind was beginning to get cloudy. He pushed himself up for another kiss and Derek's mouth met his hungrily, the subject momentarily forgotten between heavy breaths and tongues that were battling for dominance.

“I really don't think that's a good idea,” Derek muttered, still so close that his lips moved against Stiles' when he spoke.

“Why?” Stiles asked, feeling a mischievous grin appear on his face as his hand slipped down the front of Derek's pants. “Afraid you'll remember this?” he breathed, squeezing. The moan he received was well worth it.

 

“I don't want you to go,” Stiles muttered, his fingers sliding in between Derek's and holding on tight. He'd gotten most of the day with him, though it was broken into two separate pieces. The middle of the day they spent alone, Derek disappearing not long after their time in the closet, but with lots of kisses on his way out that promised he'd be back.

And he was, a little after the sun went down, leaning in the doorway of the third class hall with a subtle little smirk on his face. Stiles had grinned, grabbed his hand, and drug him off to his room. So that was how they had gotten here, Derek in his bed on his back with Stiles laying half on him and half on the worn mattress.

They'd just talked for hours, though Stiles did most of it, but Derek opened up a little. Sometimes they'd move a bit and just enjoy a fun make out session, or they'd fall quiet and Stiles would busy himself by playing with Derek's fingers or drawing absent minded shapes into his torso.

Silence spread over them for a moment, Derek's eyes were trained on the bed above them. In all honesty, the older male was too large for a space like this, but once they got relatively comfortable it was alright. And Stiles was a little glad for the excuse to be so close. “I don't want to go,” he finally admitted, tightening his grip on Stiles' hand for a moment.

Stiles shuffled slightly, folding his arms over Derek's broad chest so that he could look down at him. His eyes search over Derek's face, the perfect hair, those beautiful green eyes, strong jawline and cheekbones and that oh so sexy stubble. He was even getting used to the new slash that adorned his face. “Then don't.”

The barest moments of a pained expression crossed Derek's face, something only shown in a twist of eyebrows and a new glint in his eyes. Again, Stiles was reminded of just how fast Derek's emotions would be missed if one wasn't looking for them directly. The air thickened around him, and Stiles knew he ruined the moment...but he couldn't help it.

“What do you want me to do, Stiles? Leave her? We're on a ship, where am I going to go?” Because they both knew that Stiles didn't just want him to stay the night, he wanted so much more than that. And it wasn't really an option.

“Here?” Stiles' voice was only a whisper, his gaze dropping away from Derek's, because he knew how stupid it was. _Here_ wasn't an option. Derek had the room the size of a house up there in first class. The amount of _stuff_ he had could probably fill this entire room. And really...who would willingly choose this life if they hadn't already grown up in it. “I just...” he tried to back track, but he knew it wasn't going to work well. “I don't...do you love her?”

He felt Derek shift under him, either because the question surprised him or because he still didn't want to answer it. Stiles remembered when he had asked the question before, and he knew that he knew the answer, but he...needed Derek to say it out loud. Because there was a distinct possibility that Stiles was falling...hard and fast. For a man that was fucking engaged.

Stiles wasn't new to this kind of thing. He'd been with men before, women too, dating and fooling around and whatever had come to mind just for a bit of fun. But he'd never...felt like _this_. He'd never been able to lay in a bed cuddled up to someone and talk for hours at a time and not want anything more. He'd never walked around just hoping to catch a glimpse of green eyes and dark hair. He'd never thought about someone _constantly_.

And he knew that it was all too much too fast...but honestly? He'd never seen anyone in love more than Scott and Isaac, and those two had hit the ground running, so no one could tell Stiles that what he was feeling after a handful of days was _nothing_. But he was setting himself up for heartbreak. This was a man he could never, ever have. For more reasons than just one.

He had promised Isaac that he would be careful...and he didn't break those kinds of promises. So something had to give...Stiles needed either a shred of hope or nothing at all, something to hold onto or something to let go of. A definite yes or no. Because their time was limited and he could see a whole lot of heartbreak coming his way.

Finally, Derek huffed out of annoyance, but it was a softer kind that said he wasn't annoyed at Stiles...but something else. “It's...more complicated than a matter of love, Stiles. I can't just...walk away from her. And I'm not the only one I have to think about.”

Stiles sat up then, sliding off of Derek and onto the other side of the bed. There really wasn't enough room, so one leg was still thrown over the older male's form, and his back was pressed up against the wall, but he could look at Derek this way “So...what about me then?”

A new expression twisted through those eyebrows, hurt and want and need and...more, less, he couldn't tell. Derek pulled his free hand out from under his head and propped up on his elbows, his eyes searching Stiles' face. Stiles tried to keep his expression neutral, but he wasn't sure he was managing. “Stiles...”

That one word was so _sad_. Like it was just hurt alone, but there was something in it that was wishing it didn't have to sound that way and Stiles couldn't take it, so he shook his head, cutting Derek off. “I'm falling for you, Derek...and you let me...so if I can't...if this...please don't.”

He could feel the older male's eyes on him, but Stiles' own gaze was glued to his lap. He just couldn't stand it. It hurt, because he knew exactly where this was going. He wasn't sure what it felt like, or even what it meant, but he didn't like it. Not any of it.

Out of the side of his eyes he saw Derek nod, just once, before pushing himself out of the bed. It was a bit of a struggle, trapped between wooden frames and Stiles' limbs and trying not to get caught up in all the small spaces. It would have been funny, in a different situation. 

Stiles remembered when Derek had said something about needing to breath again, and he suddenly understood with clarity. Because he couldn't manage to get any air in. Something painfully strong welled into his chest. “Derek...”

Stiles jerked his gaze up just as Derek turned, meeting emerald eyes with his own amber ones. He swallowed the lump in his throat, opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Nothing. No words, not a choked sob, nothing at all. But Derek seemed to know exactly what he wanted, because in the next moment he was leaning forward and their lips were pressed together.

Stiles made a desperate scramble to lock his fingers in Derek's hair, tangling into the short black strands, pulling him closer. He never wanted to let go, and he wouldn't have, if Derek didn't reach back and grab Stiles wrists, pull himself free...

Then he was gone.

Stiles stared at the door for the longest time, before his eyes went blurry. He gasped for air that wouldn't come, pressed his hand against his heart, and then he fell face first into his pillow before the tears began to fall.

Never, in all his life, had something blazed so hot...and burned out so quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok guys I don't do smut...even mild little make out sessions so...for future chapters, if you comment, would you let me know how I'm doing?
> 
> I feel like I did something weird with this chapter...did I switch writing styles or something? Or am I just imagining it because I finished it at 3am? Do I need to fix it? (tell me guys!)
> 
> I know that this is all very fast, but we only have a couple of days here people, no time for slow build!


	6. April 14th, 1912

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!!! Days late but whatever
> 
> I feel like this chapter could have been a lot better, but it's very long, you see, and it's making my eyes bleed so...I just needed to get it up. If it's terrible, let me know.
> 
> So basically...I'm sorry

**“Stiles...”**

“I know,” Stiles murmured, and Isaac didn't really feel the need to go on. He had fallen asleep that night in a puddle of his own tears, long before Isaac and Scott had ever returned home. When they woke to find him crying, _again_ , both of his friends went into immediate be-there-for-Stiles mode. “I know you told me to be careful, Isaac. I should have...listened better.”

The three of them were stretched across his bunk, Scott at one end and Isaac at the other. Stiles was between them, his feet in Scott's lap and his head dropped between Isaac's folded knees. The blonde was carding his fingers through Stiles' hair, and he wished for a moment that he could trade places, because the look Scott was giving him was breaking his heart.

“I just...don't understand,” Scott mumbled, tearing off another piece of bread and passing it over to him. Stiles simply picked it to pieces before ever eating any of it. “You've never gotten this caught up over a guy before...anyone really...”

Stiles grunted noncommittally, twisting a piece of bread between his fingers before popping it in his mouth. It was cold, but still fluffy and decadent. Definitely not third class bread. “Where did you get this anyway?” Scott replied with a look that clearly said it wasn't important, and Stiles shrugged slightly. “Probably don't wanna know anyhow.”

Isaac huffed behind him in response to the poor attempt at a subject change, which only made Stiles think of Derek a little bit more. He groaned heavily before dropping both of his hands over his face. “How did this happen to me?! I didn't...gawddamnit! Why did I have to fall for his stupid face and his stupid eyebrows and his stupid _everything_.”

“Because, unfortunately, that's how things work. Kind of like Isaac's stupid curls,” Scott muttered, and Stiles kicked his knee just hard enough to make a point. He was definitely not in the mood to hear another one of their stories of absolute perfection that proved true love existed. “Ow, ok, point taken,” the other male mumbled under his breath, rubbing the abused area.

“So, what happened last night?” Isaac asked, directing the conversation once again and ignoring his partner's pain, despite the puppy dog eyes Scott pulled. Stiles sighed again before dragging his hands down just enough to look up at Isaac. The older male's icy blue eyes were full of nothing but concern, and Stiles once again felt like his little brother or something.

He breathed deeply before closing his eyes. Last night had been wonderful...before he'd decided to open his big fucking mouth and essentially _ruin everything_. He remembered there being a good reason for it at the time being, but now it just seemed...stupid. “It...was perfect and then...we got to talking and I asked him...I just don't...” Stiles sat up suddenly and Isaac let him go, his own hands falling into his lap as Stiles pressed his back against the wall.

“He's engaged,” he decided to open with, running both of his hands up and through his hair. “I've known since day one...I've known that he doesn't love her, either. In fact, I'm pretty sure he hates her. And he's so much better with me. He smiles, and he laughs, and his face isn't contorted in this way that makes him look like he's thinking about ten different ways to kill himself.” Stiles tried to mimic the contemplative face Derek constantly wore around, and he was sure the end product was amusing, but it was lost on either of the other males in the room.

Stiles shook his head, putting both of his hands through his hair and resting his knuckles against the wall behind him. “He's not happy...in fact, he's suffocating in his depression. But he won't...he won't _let her go_. Won't choose me. And I don't...I don't even think it's got to do with anything but her...I think she's holding him back. Or holding something over him but...I mean, what could that possibly be?”

He looked at Scott and then Isaac, hoping to gauge some kind of response from them, but all he got was the way the two boys were staring at each other. They did that a lot, meeting gazes and locking the rest of the world out, communicating on some sort of telepathic level. Stiles groaned. “Come on guys don't do that! Don't leave me out!”

Their expressions changed immediately. Scott's went first, crumpling into a mixture of extremely sad and pitying. It was one he knew well, the same look he'd gotten when he'd tried to convince Scott that his mom wasn't dead, she'd just fallen really deeply asleep.

Stiles turned his gaze towards Isaac, surprised to find that the older male looked more contemplative than his boyfriend. Like he was actually trying to figure out an actual answer to Stiles' question instead of just writing him off.

“I don't know, buddy,” Scott muttered, being the first to speak before laying a concerned hand on Stiles' knee. “I mean...he's in a completely different world and he's not...he's not _like_ us and...maybe he just didn't mean for any of this to go past a little...fun. You know...see what life is like on the other side of the tracks.”

Because lord knew they'd all had their share of guys who were just looking for a bit of 'fun' before trailing off back to the misses. Stiles felt his skin crawl, and shook his head violently despite the way those chocolate orbs were looking at him. No, he knew Derek better than that...he knew Derek better than _she_ did, time be damned. 

“Actually...I don't know about that,” Isaac muttered, pulling one knee up to rest his arm on. His expression was still thoughtful, his focus off of the two of them. “Stiles might actually be onto something...there was something about his name, when you introduced him to us, that caught me as odd.”

Stiles' eyebrows furrowed as he thought back to the day he had introduced Derek to the others...the morning he played first class boy. It hadn't been long ago, so he recalled it with ease, the way Isaac had run into Derek. He smiled to himself, remembering the clearly annoyed expression on Derek's face. Of course the memory would be wrapped up in him...but thinking back, Stiles did actually remember seeing Isaac confused for a split second. A lot like he did now. “I don't know, it's a pretty simple name, just Derek Hale.”

Isaac was silent for a moment, his head tilted to the side. “That's it?” he finally asked, and Stiles just shrugged because he couldn't imagine that it would be anything else. He tried to think back to the dinner, but most of the attention had been on him that night. “It's not...hyphenated or anything?”

Stiles shook his head, dropping his arms down over his own knees. Lydia's name was hyphenated, but when she introduced herself she used them both. Then again, there could be a difference with males and females, but as far as he knew Derek was just a Hale. “Why?”

Isaac shrugged, finally looking at the two of them again. He rested his head in his palm, threading his fingers through his curls before speaking. “It could mean nothing but...about six years ago my mom had this case she was working on in our home town...”

Sometimes, Stiles forgot that Isaac was actually from the States, and had lived there for most of his life when his mom had still been alive. He didn't know what had happened to her, wasn't even sure if Scott knew either, but after her death and his brother's a few years later oversees, his father had moved them back to Ireland where he was originally from. 

Isaac had been middle class back then and his mom had a job that basically showed rich people how to control their money. Even at twelve Isaac had known a lot about it all, since he'd been left alone with her for most of the day. He didn't talk about it very often.

“Maryland, right?” Stiles asked, trying to remember the handful of stories Isaac ever told about his life before Stiles and Scott. He could practically hear Derek's voice in the background, biting off his own quick tale. “Go on.”

“Well, one of her clients house caught on fire that year. The entire thing just went up in a blaze right in the middle of the day. It killed, like, eleven people in total, the only people that survived had been the two youngest kids. Mom said it was only because they were off at school or something.”

Stiles nodded along, gesturing for Isaac to get to the point. The older male gave him a bit of an exasperated look, but continued. “Anyway, they were this old family so they had all kinds of money tied up that mom was in charge of distributing. The oldest boy was sixteen at the time, so he was set up to take it all over, but right before everything got all finalized they figured out one of the adults actually survived. An uncle, I think. He was in a coma, all kinds of burnt up, but living on his own, ya know. So the money reverted to him.”

“So the kids...?” Stiles asked, not really knowing how money worked. He'd had so little growing up that he was pretty sure any cash he ever stumbled upon would still be paying off debts after he was gone. But rich families shouldn't really have that kind of problem, right?

“Got absolutely nothing,” Isaac answered, shrugging one shoulder. “Made them poor as dirt. But there were all kinds of clauses in the paper work in case something like a lot of major deaths happened. One of them stated that if the only functional inheritor was to be engaged or married, control of the money would revert to him.”

Scott moved from his spot, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his palms. “But what does that have to do with Derek?” he finally asked. “I mean--”

Stiles didn't let him finish, instead he flat out interrupted with: “What was the family name?”

“Hale-DeWitt,” Isaac answered, which explained pretty much everything. “I remember because they lived in this big, fancy, white house, with this HDW crest molded into their iron gates. Beautiful house. I used to walk by there and just imagine I lived in it. I actually cried when mom told me it burned down...”

Isaac hesitated, picking at the loose button on the cuff of his shirt, down casting his eyes for a moment. The falter came without warning, so Stiles knew there was something he was deliberately holding back. Stiles narrowed his eyes, channeled Derek, and just glared at him before the boy was stealing peaks through his long lashes.

Finally, he sighed. “My brother and the few older kids in town had this theory that...well...” Isaac paused again and seemed to find a better way to start the story. “Camedon and DeWitt were the same age so even though they weren't, like, allowed to hang out with each other Camedon knew who he was. Anyway, he said a couple of kids were hung up on this Romeo-Juliet tale DeWitt and this girl had going on. Theory was this girl was kind of crazy but no one could get DeWill away from her. Anyway, by the time he turned sixteen his family had apparently put their foot down and said they'd have him engaged to someone else within the year. And then, what do you know, they're all dead.”

Stiles knew without even having to look that Scott's eyes were as large as they could possibly get, just by the way he sounded when he finally spoke. “So what? _She_ did it?”

“Makes sense, doesn't it?” Isaac asked, quirking an eyebrow. “The only thing keeping them apart was his family. And of course she'd know when he wasn't going to be around to die with the rest of them.”

Stiles felt sick, physically sick, like he might puke at any moment. He swallowed the feeling down, wondering if the world could really be as small as that. Surely not...surely Derek's tale wasn't this tragic. But...it'd make sense. “What was her last name?”

“What?” Isaac pulled his gaze from Scott to look at Stiles again.

“The girl.”

His face twisted into concentration again, obviously trying to recall something that was long lost in his past. “I don't really remember...there were a lot of rich ass families around...it was weird, though. Kind of French maybe? Started with an A...”

“Argent?” Stiles gritted out through clinched teeth. He didn't even have to wait for Isaac to answer him, the surprised look on his face was more than enough. Stiles let out a sound that resembled more of a growl than anything else, something that started low in his chest and ripped out from his throat, before he pushed himself out of the bed. Suddenly, he was remembering Derek's words from the night before clearly. _“It's...more complicated than a matter of love, Stiles. I can't just...walk away from her. And I'm not the only one I have to think about.”_

He was already fully dressed thanks to the way he had fallen asleep, except for his boots which had been discarded by the side of his bed. He grabbed one after the other, slamming his feet into them and haphazardly tying the laces. “Stiles,” Scott said from behind him, confusion layering his voice. “Where are you going?”

“I need to talk to him,” Stiles deadpanned. “Because if _that_ is what this is about...” He shook his head, because honestly he had no idea what he was doing, he just knew he had to try. He _had_ to. He had no other option.

He wiped his face into the crook of his elbow, though it didn't seem like any new tears had fallen he didn't really want to take the chance. A few swipes through his hair and he was out the door, he could hear Scott calling out his name, but not Isaac. And Stiles was willing to bet Isaac stopped his boyfriend from following him.

He didn't even remember walking out of the third class cabin, just that he was on the deck suddenly, met by the waning sun and the smell of salt water. As his eyes pulled towards the first class landing above him, he suddenly remembered it was Sunday. The entire class seemed to be walking around, sporting their finest clothing, hanging onto the arms of one another with their bibles clutched to their chests. He could hear the bells ringing, signaling dinner.

Stiles circled around the edge of the deck, his attention never wavering as he searched out the one face he needed to see, occasionally bumping into other passengers and mumbling an apology under his breath. He nearly missed Derek when he finally caught sight of him, not far from the railings, looking like a piece of candy on Kate Argent's arm. She was dressed in a shade of ivory, her hair piled up under the beautiful hat on her head, talking to one of the men Stiles remembered having dinner with. Her brother, maybe. 

Derek looked stunning in a black suit, hands shoved in his pocket, dark hair pushed back. His usual brooding expression was on, his eyes dazing off somewhere that definitely wasn't interested in whatever conversation his fiance was entertaining.

Stiles was really glad the other two hadn't decided to follow him, because he knew he was about to do something stupid. He could tell because he had the same feeling a few nights before when he'd decided to follow Derek off the end of a ship, so he couldn't stop it even if he tried.

He knew he wasn't getting up on first class alone. It was secured at all times by gates and guards. The one time he'd been allowed up there was only with a special note from Derek and a butler on his arm. And even then, he'd been glared at and questioned much more than necessary. 

Thankfully, Stiles had a talent for getting to places he wasn't supposed to be. He circled around the deck a few more times before he found everything that he needed: a step up, a pillar and a rafter, and most importantly a break in the first class crowd.

He didn't think twice about what he was going to do, simply hopped up on the bench and wrapped one hand around the rope, the other around the handle jutting out from the pillar, and lifted. In the next moment he was grabbing onto the railing surrounding the deck, pulling himself up and over. 

Stiles stuck out like a sore thumb up there, in his cotton pants, suspenders, and dirty white shirt he'd worn for the last three days at least. He twisted and turned a few times, ducking his head and running his hand over his hair whenever anyone passed. Finally, his eyes landed on a trench coat that had been hung on a hook, a matching hat just over it. He glanced over his shoulders a few times before grabbing both items, shrugging them on as fast as he could.

Stiles crossed the deck towards the railings, leaning over them with as much good posture as he could manage, just waiting. The crowd was making their way towards him, disappearing inside to go off to the dining hall, when the one he was waiting for finally made their way over.

The four family members were deeply involved in their conversation, muttering about life boats taking up the lower deck. Chris was saying something about wishing there were more, but that his input didn't matter, his wife nodding along as she held onto his elbow. “They're just a waste of space,” Kate muttered, “on an unsinkable ship.”

They passed in the next moment and Stiles shot his arm out, catching Derek by the elbow and jerking him back. The older male lost his balance for only a second, looking over his shoulder with narrowed eyes that soon widened when they saw just who had the audacity to grab him. Derek huffed out of annoyance, but Stiles was sure the sound was lost on anyone but him. He pushed open a door to a seemingly empty room, really only taking the time to look once they were both inside.

Stiles jerked off the stolen hat and coat once they were away for prying eyes, then twisted around to face Derek who was still standing by the door. His arms were crossed, aggressively schooling his face into an annoyed expression, eyebrows furrowed lowly. “Stiles, what are you doing?”

He had no idea, honestly. “I need to talk to you,” was what he went with. Derek sighed again, rolling his shoulders before letting his arms drop from their defensive state. Which made everything so much easier.

“I thought we figured everything out last night.” It wasn't a question, it was a statement, and Stiles nearly growled out of frustration. Derek went on, not letting him react to that.“I'm engaged. I'm going to marry Kate. I...I love Kate.”

“Bullshit.” Stiles called it on him so fast that Derek actually looked surprised. He took a step forward, leaving little to no space between them. “You're an asshole, Derek. You're stubborn, and you're mean, and your stupid eyebrows piss me off and turn me on at the same time!” A flicker of amusement passed across Derek's face, but neither of them were having it, and it went away just as fast as it appeared. “But you're beautiful, and you have this fucking smile that can light up my world, and for whatever fucked up reason I _need_ you. I _need_ to see that smile every day for the rest of my life. And you need me to.”

“Stiles--”

“ **No**.” Derek stopped immediately and Stiles took another step, pointing his finger right in Derek's face, which felt oddly brave and scared the shit out of him all at the same time. “I know you're last name is Hale-DeWitt.” Derek couldn't even hide his surprise that time, and Stiles didn't need anything else to keep him going. Any doubt about what he was doing washed away. “I'm not stupid, Derek. I know how the world works. I've got five dollars in my pocket and nothing to offer you or Cora. I _know_ that, I understand. But you roped me into this Derek. You jump, I jump, _remember_. I can't just _walk_ away from this because I _know_ you now. And I know that you'll try again, Derek, you promised me that.”

“I'm fine.”

“No you're not!” Stiles snapped, because he couldn't take this. He couldn't take the fact that Derek was so calm while he felt like he was straight up losing his mind. “You're drowning! You can't _breathe_ because she's got you trapped and it's going to _kill_ you! You don't love her, Derek. You love me! I love you!” He stopped, his breaths coming out in quick huffs. He'd never yelled that loudly in his life. He'd never made that kind of declaration before, either. And yet he knew it was right.

Silence snapped up into the room harshly, Derek's expression never changing. “What do you want me to do, huh?” He finally asked. “Do you want me to give up everything I've ever known, for _you_? Do you want me to risk my life? _My sister's_ life, for this?” He gestured between the both of them angrily, and Stiles actually took a step back. He had never heard him yell before, never even heard his voice go up past anything other than a mumble. It came out harsh and deep and Stiles _hated it_.

Derek wasn't even yelling yet. “Your stupid little teenage crush means absolutely nothing!” Stiles took another step back, tears glossing over his eyes that he couldn't fight down no matter how hard he tried. Each word cut deeper than the last. “You're seventeen years old! You're not in love, you're a child!”

Derek pushed away from him, ripping open the door and looking back one last time before he disappeared. “It's not your job to save me!”

 

 **Derek** slammed the door shut behind him, leaning on the wall for a moment and sucking in as many deep breaths as he could. His chest hurt, worse than it had the night before, like his body was physically refusing to help him.

He tried to calm himself, laying his head back and slowly drawing in air, pulling himself back together before he ran his palms down the front of his suit. When he finally felt like he could handle it he stepped away from the wall, turning the corner and willing himself to make it into the dining hall. The trip down the marble staircase took longer than it should, each step more heavy and more difficult than the one before it. The lighting was too dim, his clothing was too tight, he still really couldn't breathe...

Drowning. He was drowning in the absence of water. It was back, and it would always be there, the ever present fight to breathe because the thing that could keep his heart beating was just a little too far away. 

“There you are, darling.” Kate's voice slashed through his entire being before he had even realized he'd made it to their table, her eyes on him expectantly, a smile playing on her lips that was much too sharp. “I was beginning to think maybe you had fallen overboard.”

“Got distracted,” he mumbled as he found his seat beside her. Lydia gave him a knowing glance from across the table where she was currently folding her napkin in her lap, reminding him to do the same. Everything settled into normalcy after that, but Derek couldn't find it in himself to stay alert.

He couldn't eat, the entire meal tasted like cardboard and sand, but as his eyes drifted to the seat Stiles had occupied for that one night, he began to wonder if the boy would enjoy it. Had Stiles ever had salmon, growing up so close to the sea? Or ceaser salad, bread baked into cheese? The longer he thought about Stiles, the longer he thought about the conversation they had just had.

He still wasn't sure how Stiles found out his real last name, or why he had lied about it to begin with. He just knew, for a short period of time, he didn't want to be Derek Hale-DeWitt...he wanted to be a person that no one knew. He wanted to start fresh, without all this weight on his shoulders.

Thing was, Stiles had been completely right...in everything that he had said. He didn't love Kate...he never had, now that he was old enough to understand. Stiles had put into words everything Derek had been feeling for years...trapped in a cage, being dragged under water, watching her standing over him with the key in her hand and a smile on her face. She _would_ be the death of him, it was only a matter of time.

But there was so much more to it...so much that Stiles didn't know even if he thought he did. Kate held Derek's entire life in the palm of her hand. His family inheritance, Cora, _everything_. Stiles didn't know their story, he didn't know how Kate had been the best thing in the world back then, how his entire being had crumpled when he was refused the right to marry her.

He didn't know what that had turned Kate into. He didn't know the girl that had burned down Derek's house, turned to him with the match still in her hand and tears streaming down her face and over her smile. Stiles didn't know how manipulative she was; how possessive. Stiles didn't know that she would kill him too, if she felt threatened enough.

But Derek did need him. He did love him. More than anything in the world.

Would Stiles even still care if he knew? If he knew the mistakes that Derek had made, the steps he had taken that caused the death of every family member he ever had, except for one? Would Stiles still love him, knowing that sometimes he wished he had lost Cora too...so that he had no one else to keep living for?

Derek's eyes slid across the table to where Cora was sitting, prim and proper, by Lydia. If Derek pretended, for just a moment, that he could walk away from Kate Argent...what would he do with her? His little sister belonged in this lifestyle. She flourished in it. Derek could make it poor. He could give up all the space that he hated anyway, he could give up knowing he had a warm place to sleep every night, something to eat, somewhere to bathe. Because he didn't deserve any of it anyway. 

But Cora? Cora had done nothing wrong other than be related to him. She was a child, and she was beautiful and smart and she would do something wonderful with the opportunities God had granted. That was what she deserved.

Lydia turned to her, a smile on her face as she fluffed Cora's curls and mentioned something about the jewels she had borrowed. And in that one simple moment, Derek saw some sort of light at the end of the tunnel. Lydia adored Cora...and Jackson, despite himself, would often smile at her charming wit. They would take care of her, wouldn't they? If anything was to happen...in a few years, she'd be old enough to be married anyway. And Cora was a strong girl, she wouldn't be much of a burden. 

Derek snapped out of his thoughts when Kate pressed a kiss against his cheek as she stood. He glanced up at her for only a moment before he realized everyone was else was standing as well, and that at some point they had cleared their plates. “I'm going to have tea with the ladies,” she said, patting his shoulder before disappearing off beside Victoria.

Derek nodded, muttered a goodbye, and waved off the attention of the men who were waiting for him to join them in brandy and cigars. They let him go with shrugs, disappearing after the women. Only Lydia hung back for a moment, Cora a few steps ahead looking at her expectantly. “Derek,” the redhead finally spoke up, “are you ok?”

“Fine,” he muttered absently, laying his napkin on his still full plate before pushing himself out of his seat. He spared her a glance, noticed the worry lining her chocolate eyes, and he knew he couldn't lie to her. “Actually, no, I'm not fine, but I'm about to be....would you mind keeping Cora company for awhile?”

Lydia nodded and grasped his arm when he walked passed her, giving him a supportive look. He hesitated for a second, and then slowly offered her the smallest of smiles. What he was about to do very well had the ability to ruin everything...her support helped, even unspoken; unknowing.

He moved through the dining-hall with a sense of purpose , following the way down to the deck without allowing himself to think about what he was doing. The sun was long down by the time he made it out there, only a few people scattered about. He didn't even have to look for Stiles, he knew exactly where he would be.

The walk to the end of the ship wasn't a long one, and even though he was well aware of what he was going to do, he still froze in place when he saw Stiles standing there, arms over the rails, lit cigarette between his fingers, a breathtaking sight against the soft glow of the moon and the dark water. As silent as it was this late, his footsteps must have startled the younger male.

Stiles looked back at him slowly, ducking his chin down until he realized it was Derek he was actually seeing. His amber eyes looked red around the edges, like maybe he had been crying awhile ago. He stood a little straighter, taking one more drag off of his cigarette before flicking it into the water. “You made your point, Derek. Don't worry, I won't come looking for you ever again. You can go now.”

Derek didn't say a word. Instead he crossed what little distance was still between them, grabbing Stiles where his suspenders met on his back and jerking him down off the rails. The boy flailed for a moment, even glared, but then Derek's lips were on his.

He relaxed, for the first time all night, wrapping his arms around Stiles' smaller frame and pulling him as close as he could. Stiles responded to the kiss hesitantly, softly, and when they finally broke away Stiles smiled softly. “Change your mind, sourwolf?”

Derek answered with another kiss.

 

“I'll never get over how big it is in here,” Stiles said as they walked inside of Derek's room. He hadn't asked where they were going when they left the deck, just let the older male drag him where he pleased. Derek was actually surprised there hadn't been more talking on the boys part, but he seemed...content. It was odd.

“It's too big,” he muttered, always a little annoyed with the space, as he took off his jacket and folded it over one of the many chairs. Stiles followed after him, laying his portfolio on the table, his focus on pretty much anything else. Derek let him look for a moment, making his way to the washroom in the corner, pulling at the buttons on all of his ridiculous clothing. He could hear Stiles chuckle behind him, moving around the room and picking at stuff. He'd never really gotten the change to just look the last time he was there.

“I don't know,” Stiles was saying. “I mean, you've seen my room. Imagine if me and Isaac and Scott could have a place like this...” he trailed off, and actually left it there, but Derek couldn't resist the urge to snort.

“It'd be trashed?” he finished, finally managing to get out of his constricting church clothes. Stiles laughed loudly, a sound that sent a soft thrill through his body, before agreeing with him. Derek grabbed his silk robe off the back of the door, the same one Stiles had worn before, and tied it around his waist as he stepped into the main room again.

Stiles was standing with his back to him, looking up at the multiple paintings hanging on the wall, none of which Derek liked. “Kate has a taste in art, huh?” Stiles asked, and while his tone was normal enough there was an unmistakable layer of malice beneath it.

Derek paused for a moment, glancing at the pieces one more time before he nodded and walked over to the large safe in the back of the room. The notion was lost on the boy, but he knew neither of them really needed to hear the answer out loud. “Speaking of the she devil herself,” Stiles continued, “when should she be back?”

Derek shot a look over his shoulder just to see Stiles actually focused on him now, his weight shifting from foot to foot out of nervousness. Derek scoffed. “When tea and gossip runs out,” he answered, twisting the combination into the safe. “And I have it on good authority that they spike their tea.”

“Lydia?” Stiles guessed, and he nodded again before sorting through the few materials he and Kate left locked up before he found what he was looking for. A simple jewelry box, not much larger than the size of his hand. Stiles crossed the room quietly, appearing at his side just as he lifted the top. “Whoa. Oh my go...what is _that_?!”

Derek smiled, more to himself than anything, as his thumb rolled gently over the large blue diamond. It was still a beautiful possession, the gem encased by white stones, the chain made up of the same thing. He'd never really liked it...but he knew Stiles would. “It's called The Heart of the Ocean,” he explained. “It was a family heirloom...one that Kate was always attached to. She used to stare at it for hours and ask when I would finally give it to her. I can think of some more appropriate uses though...”

The diamond was one of the few things that had survived the fire, an unmarked treasure in their household it was also one of the few things that didn't belong to Peter Hale instead of him. Derek only held onto it for one of two reasons: he knew _exactly_ what it was worth. It was a back up plan...one he had never really imagined he would put into motion. But now...

Stiles' fingers were ghosting over the diamond linked chain, never touching even though the intent was clearly there. He looked awed, and a little afraid at the same time. “I want you to draw me, Stiles,” Derek murmured absently.

The younger male's head jerked up suddenly, his amber eyes turning bright. He seemed surprised, and excited, and like he might ruin something if he said anything out loud. He turned around quickly, but Derek wrapped his fingers around Stiles' thin wrist and pulled him back. The younger male stopped, brows knitting together in confusion. “Stiles,” Derek explained, “I want you to draw me like one of your french boys. Wearing this.”

Stiles stared at him for a moment, as if Derek was repeating something he had already said and he was waiting for more than that. “Alright,” the boy muttered, arching one eyebrow as he went to step away again. Derek grinned slowly, because of course Stiles didn't get it, and held him back once more.

“Wearing _only_ this.”

 

 **Stiles** didn't breath, wasn't even sure he could if he tried. His amber eyes stayed locked on the blue stone in Derek's hand, watching the way the smaller diamonds sparkled around it, casting lights into the blue and making it look like someone had captured the deepest part of the sea there. The Heart of the Ocean...it made sense.

He could practically _feel_ the smirk that would be on Derek's handsome face when he finally looked up, could taste the muscles under the silk that he'd only had the pleasure of touching a handful of times, only imagine the way Derek would look stretched out before him...

Stiles forced himself to swallow, which proved more difficult than it should have been considering his mouth had practically gone dry. “Ok,” he murmured finally. “Um...we need lights and...yeah, lights are important.” Stiles twisted his wrist out of Derek's grasp, taking a few steps away from him so that he could think clearly.

“Turn this on,” he mentioned, gesturing to the large chandelier hanging in the middle of the room. Derek nodded behind him, slipping the necklace on over his head before discarding the box on the table next to Stiles' art supplies. One by one, all the lights went on in the room, and Stiles busied himself by plopping into each and every chair there was, looking for one that was comfortable. 

They were both silent for awhile, Stiles getting up on occasion and ordering something to be turned on or off while he studied the shadows. Eventually he ended up moving furniture around, getting Derek's help with the bigger pieces. “What do you want to pose on?” he finally asked. “It's easier to sit or lay down or...something...ya know.”

Derek nodded, looking around for a moment before he threw open the door to his bedroom. Stiles waited patently, shifting his weight from one foot to another until Derek came back, dragging a black Victorian style lounger behind him. It seemed light enough so Stiles stayed where he was, directing Derek where to put it and watching how it worked with the lighting, moving it little by little. 

Somewhere in the middle of all their working he had lost his suspenders, and they hung down around his thighs as he moved to pull his own chosen chair in front of the area he had created. He felt a sheen of sweat cover his body as he realized what he was about to do. He was going to draw Derek Hale, in all of his naked glory, and sit there like it wasn't getting him all hot and bothered.

“Alright,” Stiles finally said, undoing the top two buttons of his shirt so that he could breathe, pulling at the thin cotton to get some air against his hot chest. He took one look at Derek clothed in only that fucking silk robe and ended up pushing both sleeves up to his elbows while he was at it. “You ready for this?”

Derek smirked at him, green eyes looping over Stiles' entire form. “Are _you_?”

“Don't give me that look,” Stiles snapped, and Derek immediately schooled his expression back into his general disinterest. He shook his head at him before folding both of his arms across his chest and raising an expecting eyebrow. “Choose how you want to sit, make sure you're comfortable. I'll pose you after that.”

The older male hesitated for only a moment before his fingers moved to the loose knot around his waist, pulling at it gently and letting the robe slide off of his shoulders and fall down around his feet. For everything in him, Stiles kept his eyes locked on the extensively painted walls across from him.

Derek moved to the couch, settling himself into the crook of the raised corner. Stiles glanced at him for just a moment then walked across the room to grab one of the lamps and pull it over, twisting the shade out of place to get the desired amount of shadows on Derek's form. 

Stiles dropped down into a squat, looking Derek over, for a moment he was in such full artist mode that he didn't even realize just exactly _who_ was in front of him. He started with Derek's hands, lifting the one farthest from him and curving it under Derek's hair. “You have to lay on it lightly,” he instructed, watching the older male shift to get a little more comfortable then nod. Stiles took his other hand and moved it beside his head, until his fingers reached his temple, letting them curl how they wanted. He leaned slightly on his heals, placing one finger under Derek's chin to move his face gently towards where he would be sitting.

He went for the diamond next, which was a lot heavier than he expected but that ended up being a good thing because it stayed exactly where he put it. He smoothed out the chain carefully, keeping it from kinking, before finally casting his eyes downward. “Damn.”

Stiles could literally hear the smirk in Derek's voice. “What?”

“Nothing.” He reached down and tapped on Derek's left knee once. “Lift this one up, you can rest it on the back of the couch so it doesn’t get tired.” Derek didn't nod, probably knowing better, but moved his leg slow enough to keep the rest of his body from changing even slightly. Stiles backed up on his heals so he could get the full picture once more before nodding. “Ok.”

“Stiles Stilinski...are you blushing?”

Stiles thumped Derek on the forehead before he stood up, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants as he made his way to the table where he had dropped his portfolio earlier. He pulled his supplies out of his back pocket, flipping open the cheap leather to ghost his fingers over what he wanted. He had colors, but they were rare and expensive so he hardly used them, but he chose a few for tonight: green, for Derek's eyes, pink for a bit of skin tone work, and blue for the diamond.

Thankfully, Derek's hair was dark black so the majority of his work could be in charcoal. He picked the pencil out from the others and took a moment to sharpen it back into a point with his knife before gathering everything up, along with a pinch of putty, and dropping himself into the seat he had chosen.

Stiles shot another look at Derek as he got comfortable in his chair, propping his portfolio on his knees and thumbing through it to a blank page. Derek was beyond handsome...the kind of man that really shouldn't exist, honestly. His normally styled to perfection raven hair was slightly messy from the way Stiles had posed him, paired perfectly with the scruff that outlined his mouth and scattered down his cheeks, disappearing along his neck somewhere.

There was still a slash across his cheek, but it had healed a bit over time and no longer looked quite as violent. Despite their banter from earlier, he was nothing but serious now, only more...relaxed, his dark eyebrows settling comfortably over those beautiful emerald eyes, sending them shining in full force. It was almost...serene, seeing him like that.

Derek's body was a work of art all on it's own, made up of completely compact muscles. They built his broad shoulder and lined his arms. Carved his torso into a wonderful piece of six detailed abs and the v-shape around his thighs that framed the stretch of dark hair spiraling under his belly button. To long legs spread out over black velvet...

Stiles hadn't realized he'd been sketching until his eyes landed the canvas that sat in front of him. His long fingers flashed between colors, using his pinkie to smudge out lines and fade certain shades. He went back over everything with charcoal, sharpening occasionally, bending shadows. It was...perfect. Derek Hale was perfect.

He blew softly at the final piece, darting looks between the real thing and the paper imagine before he finally decided he was finished. Stiles' fingers hurt when he dropped his pencils on the side table, and he took a moment to flex all ten digits while he worried his bottom lip between his teeth. He'd never troubled with what someone would think of his art as much as he did then. “Come'ere.”

Derek didn't hesitate before finally moving, throwing his long legs off the side of the lounger and pulling himself into a stretch that made Stiles' mouth water. He ignored the sensation, shifting slightly in his seat, stealing glances through his lashes as Derek slid the black robe back on, loosely tying it around his hips as he walked over behind the chair, leaning in above Stiles' shoulder. 

The silence made Stiles uncomfortable. Usually people said something the moment they saw his art, either good or bad, he wasn't used to having to wait. He ran a worried hand through his hair before tilting his head back, glancing up at Derek. The older male's green eyes were shining, though with what Stiles couldn't honestly say.“Derek...”

Derek seemed to snap out of whatever trance he was in, a soft smile curling onto his lips. “It's amazing...” he finally stated, and Stiles felt relief course through his veins like a long needed drink of water. “I just...I never thought about how I might look to you...”

Stiles raised an eyebrow, his gaze darting between the sketch and Derek himself. For a moment he didn't understand...they might as well be mirrored images of each other. “To me? Derek,” he shifted in his seat again, dropping the portfolio in his lap so he could look up at him. “I don't edit anything when I draw...you really are this...amazing, to use your word.”

Derek's eyes were searching his now, looking for something that told him otherwise. Stiles raised an eyebrow at him expectantly, but then Derek's hands were on his face, fingers sliding back into his hair, thumbs at his jawline. In the next second soft lips met his, stubble tickling his cheeks, the lightest hint of tea and citrus touching his tongue as Derek's did. His breathed hitched in the back of his throat, but he only moved closer, letting Derek drag his lips open.

The portfolio dropped from his lap as Stiles suddenly found himself climbing to his knees, his fingers twisting into the front of Derek's robe to pull him closer, their mouths moving more urgently, tongues sliding against each other softly.

Derek pulled away from him despite Stiles' grip, still close enough that all he could really see were green eyes boring into his own, looking for answers to a question he really didn't even have to ask. “Do you--?”

Stiles nodded quickly, pushing Derek back a few steps before he half-fell out of his chair and found his way to his feet, his hands slipping over the robe to the back of Derek's neck, fingering the diamond chain down across his torso, his touch disappearing under layers of black silk. “Yeah,” he answered, his voice coming out in a gravely whisper. “I really, _really_ do.”

Derek's mouth was back on his without hesitation, hot and demanding. Stiles' moan surprised even himself as Derek's hands pulled from his hair and fingers began working on the last few buttons on his shirt. Stiles jerked away the moment the last one came loose, both of his hands gripping tightly to the cheap cotton as he pulled them back over his body. 

The distance seemed to surprise Derek for a moment, who looked at the space between them before his eyebrows scrunched together and confused eyes looked up at him. A blush crept up the back of Stiles' neck, overtaking his face in mere moments.

“Um...” he wet his lips before rubbing them together, his gaze dropping slowly over Derek's mostly exposed abs of perfection. He knew he needed an explanation, fast, because the older male's expression was beginning to close off. And the last thing Stiles needed was for Derek to lock him out. Again. “Derek I don't...I don't look like _you_ under here,” he muttered, his knuckles turning white the more he clutched at his shirt. “I'm thin and malnourished and what little muscle I have is made out of all the wrong stuff and I'm boney and lanky and...and...can we just...do this with our clothes on?”

After being met with nothing but silence, Stiles finally lifted his eyes again to see Derek slowly smiling at him, a rare form of humor dancing across his expression as he took a step closer. “Are you serious right now?”

Stiles let out an exasperated sigh, letting go of his shirt finally to gesture pointlessly as he tried to come up with a better excuse, once again looking anywhere but at Derek. “I don't know! Something! I just...”

“Stiles, look at me you beautiful little shit.” Stiles huffed, his eyes locked on the floor before they dragged back to Derek's face. Any traces of humor was gone, but the look that replaced it sent Stiles' heart beating a thousand miles an hour. Derek stepped closer to him, slowly, until he was nosing gently at his temple, his thumb tracing over Stiles' bottom lip, fingers curled under his chin.“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

Derek tilted his chin up slightly before leaning down to close the distance between them, his tongue tracing out the path his thumb had just made before sucking Stiles' bottom lip gently between his own. Stiles sighed softly, the muscles in his body slowly loosening, as his fingers moved back to grip his shirt. Derek stopped him, his hands wrapping around both of Stiles' own before moving them out of the way.

Stiles hadn't even realized he'd still been taking steps until his back gently touched the wall behind him. He was lost in the feeling of Derek's lips moving against his, the tongue tracing around his teeth, the soft sighs they shared when they broke away only for a moment.

He knew Derek's fingers were on him, drawing feather light touches across the panes of his stomach before reaching his shoulders, gently nudging the cotton away, but all he was really aware of was how it felt when he lifted up for another kiss, when Derek pulled away agonizingly slow. 

One of Derek's hands rested on the wall beside Stiles' head as he pulled a few more chaste kisses from the boy's lips, dark eyes boring into amber one's as his palm moved down the lean stretch of muscles throughout Stiles' abdomen. “You liar,” he mumbled deeply before fingers twisted into the trail of brown hair just under Stiles' naval. The soft groan that pulled out of him was unavoidable, as was the way his hips slowly jerked forward.

Derek breathed out a chuckle before Stiles was reaching up, wrapping his arms around the older male's neck and pulling him down for another kiss. He suddenly wasn't resting against the wall so much as being pressed against it, Derek's fingers making quick work at the belt that was doing a poor job of holding up his much too large pants. Stiles was trying to step out of his shoes, using the wall for leverage, but Derek's lips still slid off of his when he stumbled on occasion, the only thing between ruined kisses was soft laughter.

Pants dropped around his feet, the clatter of his belt hitting the ground the only thing that pulled them apart again. There was a pause as their eyes met, heavy breaths shared in the small space between them before Derek stepped away, holding a hand out. Stiles took it, fingers locking around one another, before Derek was dragging him, the younger male trying not to trip or stumble as he went.

The appeal of Derek's first class bedroom was lost in a haze of need and want. He was sure it was beautiful, astounding even, but he couldn't remember anything before Derek's hands were on his hips, pushing him down against the bed.

Soft blankets sank under his form before Derek's weight was over him, and he barely registered moving his hands between them to get rid of the robe that Derek was still wearing, pushing it over his shoulders and letting it fall somewhere that really didn't matter.

Derek's mouth lowered down onto Stiles' throat, fingers sliding slowly up his sides, the heavy diamond landing on his chest. He sighed softly, tilting his head back as Derek's mouth dipped lower, lips and tongue sliding across his collarbone, down his chest, over his abdomen. Derek's hands, so much larger and softer than his, slipped under his thighs, pulling him closer. 

It was amazing, too amazing, Stiles couldn't handle being the center of attention. He moved one hand to Derek's shoulder, rolling them slowly and putting the older male on his back. Stiles shifted for a moment until he was comfortably settled on Derek's thighs, straddling him. He licked his lips slowly, eyes dragging over the body that was spread out under him before meeting the smug smirk that was appearing on Derek's face. “ _What?_ ” Stiles snapped.

“Nothing,” Derek answered, his smirk only growing as he folded his muscled arms under his head, raking his own eyes down Stiles' torso again before his gaze snapped up to his face. “Please, continue.”

Stiles hesitated for a moment, throwing an annoyed glare at Derek before he leaned down, dipping his tongue into the man's naval and dragging it slowly through the planes of his stomach, only stopping when he reached the diamond chain. He grinned triumphantly at the way the muscles contracted under his touch, at the sound of the moan that Derek let go of.

Stiles found both of the other males hands, intertwining their fingers before he pinned them above Derek's head, leaning in pressing their lips together again, slow and meaningful, tongues dragging against one another before he pulled back. “I love you,” he whispered. “I meant it...when I said it earlier.”

“I know,” Derek replied, and Stiles wasn't really surprised when he didn't say it back, but he didn't have to, Stiles already knew. He smiled as he sat up again and took a deep breath, steadying the nerves that were beginning to twist into his stomach. He let go of one of Derek's hands, trailing his fingers down the man's torso once more, but the moment Derek realized what his goal was his hand shot out, catching Stiles around the wrist.

“Don't,” he finally said, and Stiles felt every bit of self doubt bulldoze back into him from before his clothes had even come off. Just as he was about to back away, Derek flushed. “I won't last...”

Stiles' eyes went wide in shock. “Holy..you're joking right?!” Derek shook his head without hesitation, mouth drawn in a tight line, eyebrows furrowed and serious. Wow. Ok. So Stiles had done that.. “Alright then...” he licked his lips nervously. “Let's do this then.”

He'd never seen a more raw emotion on Derek Hale's face than the doubt that appeared so suddenly after his words. Stiles' eyebrows arched up his forehead slowly before he realized something he had never thought of. “You've done this before, right...?” Derek shot him a sharp, annoyed look that sent Stiles into a deep sigh before he stressed his point: “With a _guy_.”

The silence was more than enough to answer his question. Stiles sighed again, dropping off of Derek before sliding his fingers through his hair and tangling them in the short strands. “Oh my god, Derek. That's something that you tell a guy!”

Derek pushed himself up, trapping Stiles down for the second time. He smiled at the younger male before stealing a few chaste kisses, soothing Stiles' nerves down again and drawing his nose along Stiles' jawline, pausing only to press kisses into his skin. “Walk me through it...”

“...Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I think that I've mentioned before that I don't write smut, and I rolled into this fic blissfully unaware of the need for a sex scene, so when it came to the ending of this chapter I found myself surprised at what I had gotten into. So there only became one option. I had to seek out some help.
> 
> My best friend bravely volunteered, so the last thousand words or so she got to read in parts while I tried to finish. We were chatting over skype and I decided you all needed to see this conversation:
> 
>  **Me:** *adds last paragraph where Derek says 'Nothing, please continue"*  
>  **Her:** Yes, please do  
>  **Me:** damn it  
>  **Me:** it's getting hard  
>  **Me:** OMG  
>  **Her:** heheheheHEHEHEHE
> 
> Two more chapters lovies *gross sobbing* prepare yourselves.


	7. April 15th, 1912

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes there is an **alternate ending**. If you want that to be the “true” story, stop here and don't read this chapter. Instead, go read here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1510193/chapters/3190484
> 
> By the way, it was brought to my attention by a reader that _“listening to the Titanic soundtracks while reading WILL NOT HELP AT ALL”_ (yes, direct quote). So of course now I'm going to be like “Heeey, lovely people, you wanna listen to the soundtrack while you're reading?” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aAA9tShl58A 
> 
> I'm really sorry this chapter took so long but I really, really wanted it to sound right so...yeah. Thanks to everyone who has stuck with me and my slowness!

**“Derek?”**

“Yeah?” Derek murmured sleepily, lazy fingers traveling down Stiles' spine in feather light touches. They'd ended up under the covers at some point, Derek on his back with one arm folded under his head, Stiles stretched above him on his stomach, face buried in his neck. The younger male was warm, sheets gathered gently in the curve of his spine, heartbeat slowly lulling Derek into a deep, relaxed state. He'd be asleep in moments, if only he was so lucky.

Stiles shifted in his arms, resting his chin gently against his shoulder. Derek sighed softly and let his eyes open, giving the kid his attention. Stiles' face was still flushed, mostly his cheeks, his hair a mixture of unruly and sticking to his forehead, his amber eyes bright and glowing...the smallest smile curving those beautiful lips. “That was fun. We should do it again. Many, many times. Several times in a row. In several different positions.”

Derek couldn't help but laugh, the sound rolling out of him with lazy ease, which only caused Stiles' grin to grow. A new blush appeared on his cheeks before he pressed his face into Derek's neck again, his entire body nuzzling in closer. “That's a good sound,” he murmured, lips moving softly against stubble. “Your laugh...you should do that more often.”

Derek smiled himself, carding his fingers through Stiles' hair. It felt good to laugh...it felt good to have all this room in his chest that wasn't a constant ache or pressure cutting off his air supply. His entire being felt light...free of restraints. He knew that was all thanks to Stiles...everything was thanks to Stiles. He'd just buried his nose into that soft brown hair when he heard something.

Footsteps, right outside his room, echoing through the quite hallway, joined by Cora's girly giggle, light and airy and way too close. Stiles went stiff first, Derek could feel every muscle in his relaxed body tense, his fingers curling at his sides. “Kate?” The younger male guessed, his voice shaking slightly.

Derek hesitated for a moment, wondering if maybe Cora had just come back on her own, decided it was too late for her to still be out. He tilted his head back, stretching as close to the wall as he could manage. Even muffled and muttered, Kate's voice was distinct. “...Yeah.”

At first, neither of them moved, except for Stiles' fingers digging into Derek's skin with a slow pressure he didn't even realize until it began to hurt. Finally, the younger male broke it, with a soft, “How long do we have...?” The question hung in the air while Derek tried to formulate an answer, to think of a way out of this that didn't end in flames. Hypothetical and literal.

“Couple of seconds?”

Just like that, everything was broken. They were both bolting our of bed, Stiles cursing as his legs became tangled into sheets that brought him down faster than anything Derek had ever seen, hands falling flat on the wooden floor before he managed to kick himself free and take off in a flash of fair skin and flailing limbs.

Derek would have chuckled, or at least spared an eyeroll, if they weren't running out of what precious time they had. He was on Stiles' heals in seconds, watching out of the corner of his gaze as Stiles gathered up fallen clothing, jumping back into it as fast as he could. He was quick, open shirt already hanging off his shoulders, trying to get into shoes and hold his pants up at the same time, one fist clenching the loose material to his stomach.

Derek gathered up fallen pencils and pens, the portfolio that was still laying open on the ground, art supplies off the table, anything and everything that didn't belong. He pushed Stiles with one hand, keeping the materials pressed to his chest with the other. The boy toppled briefly from the force before hauling ass back into Derek's room, only one shoe on. Derek grabbed the other one off the floor as he followed.

He slammed the door shut, pressing his back up against it, and listening. Stiles took his other shoe out of Derek's hand, wobbling as he tried to jerk it on, freezing with one leg still in the air when they heard the sound of the front door opening. Derek gestured wildly with his figures and Stiles nodded, switching their positions. He threw his back against the door while Derek opened one of his dresser drawers, shoving all of Stiles' art supplies in while pulling clothes out of another, trying to be as quiet as humanly possible.

Neither of them said a word while Derek yanked on pants and pushed a shirt over his shoulders, though Stiles kept sending him frantic looks as he worked his belt on. He didn't bother with the rest of his usual array of clothing, it didn't matter anyway. He just sat on the edge of the bed and tugged shoes on.

The moment Stiles pulled his belt tight he no longer had to hold his pants up, but his suspenders were hanging down on his thighs, shirt unbuttoned and showing off a lean line of abs still coated in a shine of sweat. “What now?” he whispered, his fingers trying to work on the buttons of his shirt but his hands kept shaking. Derek stood up, crossing the room in a few steps. He placed one hand over both of Stiles', getting them to steady, and one finger over the boys lips before pressing his ear against the door.

Stiles froze under him, heat rolling off of his body in subtle little waves, warm breath splashing across Derek's neck. He tried his best not to get distracted, not to think about how that bare skin felt against his, and focused on finding the girls through the door. The main room sounded empty, which meant they were on Kate's side of the suite.

Derek finally gave a nod, pulling away, but a tug on his neck kept him in place. He looked down to meet Stiles' amber gaze—wide eye'd and worried—then lower to the blue diamond sitting in the boys palm. He hadn't even realized he was still wearing it. He plucked it from Stiles' grasp, dropped it under his shirt and shook his head because there was no time to put it back. He slid his hand down Stiles' arms, twining their fingers together, then backed away, pulling Stiles with him.

The two of them crossed the room, opening the door a foot from his bed, relaxing the moment they were in the hallway. He didn't let go of Stiles' hand, in fact he gave the younger male a gentle squeeze before throwing him a soft smile. He didn't know where they were going, or what morning would bring, but for now he just didn't want to leave Stiles' side.

Stiles smiled at him, lifting up on his toes, free hand resting on the side of Derek's face. The few extra inches made him taller, made him have to tilt Derek's head back to press their lips together. He chuckled breathlessly, relieved, into Derek's mouth, and he found it impossible not to smile again. He kissed Stiles back, his own free hand sliding into brown hair when Stiles dropped down on his feet again, dragging him closer.

The sound of double-doors being pushed open caused him to jump away from Stiles as if they'd been burned. He twisted his head around to glance at Kate who stood there, each hand wrapped around one of the doors, nails digging into wood, face slowly twisting with rage as she took in their disheveled appearances, conjoined hands, intimate touches....

He felt like he was sixteen again, standing across from her. He could practically hear his father's voice in his ear whispering _not allowed to marry_ , though it was far away...muddled by time and repressed memories. The look on her face was the same he'd seen back then, the day before he lost everything. He could smell smoke, feel the burning in his throat, see the walls around him slowly curling into ash, and suddenly it was getting really hard to breathe...

He must have frozen, because Stiles was pulling on his hand, jerking him down the hallway. He stumbled to keep up, barely remembering how to use his legs as fear clouded his mind. What would she do when she found them? What would she do to Stiles? She had access to guns...to money...she could drown him. She could set him on fire.

There was a pain in his chest that had him doubling over, his free hand fisting against his heart. Stiles' fingers gripped his tighter, and Derek looked up just in time to see them darting past the guards who watched the gates. He shot a glance over his shoulder, and wasn't surprised at all to see Kate following them. She was oddly quick in healed boots, her dress clinched in her hands to keep it out of the way, face set and determined.

Stiles was moving fast, out of the halls and suddenly outside. The cold night air hit him like a brick wall. His body jolted, salt replacing the burning that was still clouding his senses, but Stiles wasn't slowing down. Even though there was only a handful of people still out, they slammed into just about everyone. Then Stiles was dropping his hand, grabbing onto the railings and throwing himself over them with practiced ease.

Derek stopped short, heart pounding in his chest, watching Stiles land on a bench below before looking up at him expectantly, gesturing wildly with his hands. “Come on, sourwolf!” Derek took a deep breath, trying to get enough air in to sooth the lungs that hadn't been working earlier as he placed his hands on the rails.

“Derek!”

Kate's voice caused him to move faster than he had even considered. He was over the railings before he even knew for sure what he was doing, his feet hitting the bench below him just like Stiles had done. He glanced at the younger male who smiled at him and took his hand once again, pulling him down onto the deck.

Both of their heads tilted upwards, looking at Kate as she hit the railings, her knuckles white as they clasped around the bars, a glare on her face. Even in the dark, Derek could tell just how insanely pissed she was. “Run,” he whispered.

Stiles didn't hesitate. They were running again, this time a lot easier now that Derek wasn't practically being dragged. He realized at some point that they were back indoors, weaving through the tight hallways of the third class cabins, hitting staircase after staircase, twisting lower and lower into the ship. He wasn't even sure he could map his way back, much less if Kate could follow them.

Stiles was shouldering a door open and bursting into another room. No...storage. They'd literally reached the farthest down they could go. Derek took a moment to look around at the crates and large pieces of furniture while Stiles doubled over, panting, both hands on his knees. Derek's own chest was moving thickly with his labored breaths.

“Dude!” Stiles' voice knocked him out of his thoughts, the younger male letting go of his hand as he darted across the large space. Derek knew what he had been distracted by almost immediately. A car, go figure, he had guessed Stiles was a fan after knowing who Danny Mahealani is. “Is this a 1912 Coupe de Ville?!” He was still breathless, but his excitement was winning.

“Renault Type CB,” Derek confirmed, glancing over the glossy red vehicle. It wasn't a rare sight for him, he'd arrived in his own Coupe de Ville, but Stiles was laughing as he climbed up behind the wheel. His shirt was still unbuttoned, hanging haphazardly off his shoulders now as he bounced in his seat.

Stiles looked at him and grinned as he tried to push his insane hair back, sitting up as straight as he could manage. “Where to, Mr. Hale?” His voice was professional enough, but his entire being looked ridiculous. Still flushed with an afterglow of sex, adrenaline obviously pumping through his veins at running so far, hair windblown.

Derek shook his head, an amused smile appearing on his face, chest heaving as he tried to calm down. He sighed as he lifted himself up into the back cabin, putting down the window that separated the two of them. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss into the back of Stiles' neck, breathing in his sent with a smile on his face. “Far away from here,” he whispered.

Stiles twisted around as much as his body would allow him, eyebrows bouncing halfway up his forehead in shock, which was adorable compared to his pink cheeks. “Really?” he asked, eyes searching Derek's face, knowing there was so much more hidden in those words.

Derek smiled, stole a quick kiss, and wrapped his arms around the boys shoulders. In the next moment he was dragging Stiles backwards, the younger male nothing more than flailing limbs and ridiculous smiles as he dropped onto the leather seats.

Derek dropped next to him, leaning in instantly to seal their mouths together. The kiss was messy, heated, feeding off left over adrenaline still coursing through their veins. He broke away for a moment, resting his forehead against Stiles', both taking steady breathes as they stared at each other. Slowly, Stiles relaxed, and Derek fell with him before their lips were moving against each other again, smooth and slow, enjoying every soft moan he pulled out of Stiles.

Stiles broke the second one, tilting his head back and drawing in soft, long breaths of air. Derek couldn't get enough of him, couldn't get enough of breathing in their mixed scents, couldn't get enough of the taste. He moved his lips over Stiles' jawline, down his neck, into the hallow of his throat.

He'd marked Stiles, more than once, so he took the time now to lap at the bruises that littered the boys skin. Above him, Stiles sighed softly, one hand coming up to tangle into short black strands of hair. Derek smiled, moving down the boys torso, enjoying the fact that Stiles was _loving_ the treatment he was getting.

 

 **Stiles** couldn't care less how late it was. He walked across the deck hand in hand with Derek, what he was sure the most ridicules kind of smile stretching across his face. He'd finally managed to get dressed properly, but his suspenders were still hanging around his thighs, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. It was cold out, fresh salt water filling the air, but his entire body was hot.

Derek...Derek looked good. Relaxed. He was only wearing his fitted pair of black pants and a button down shirt. He had tucked it in, but all that did was show off his body a little more than usual. The first few buttons at the top were undone, his hair ruffled from way too much fun, it was...a good look on him. _Happy_ was a good look on him.

“I feel like all of our important moments happen here,” Stiles muttered, his fingers curling on the rails as he pushed his torso over the back of the ship, watching the dark icy water roll under them. Somehow this was where they always ended up, under the stars, with the breeze pushing his hair back. It felt a lot like that first night actually, when he'd followed Derek here.

Derek made a sound in the back of his throat that was almost amused but not quite a chuckle as he joined Stiles, folding his arms over the bars and leaning comfortably. He was silent for a moment, looking up at the stars instead of the water. “At least no one is jumping this time,” he mused.

Stiles chuckled, stepping down and leaning on the pillar, folding his arms over his chest comfortably. Derek looked amazing, the soft moonlight touching his features. How was he always this beautiful? “I'd still follow you,” he muttered, because that would never change.

“I no longer have a reason to try.” There was a beat of silence before Derek turned his head to look at Stiles, resting his chin on his arms. Stiles felt a grin spread across his face, only widening at the soft smile Derek offered him. They'd come so far, in only a couple of days. “When the ship docks,” Derek said softly, turning his eyes back to the stars, “I'm getting off with you.”

It took Stiles a moment to process those words, to understand exactly what they meant. He'd thought he'd heard them earlier, sitting in that Coupe de Ville, but now...now he was sure. He thought his face might break from how hard he was grinning. He closed the small space between them, arms circling around Derek's neck to pull him down into a kiss.

Derek chuckled softly, a sound that pulled from low in his throat and was filled with nothing but happiness. Stiles was smiling against his lips, not caring if that made it sloppy, he was just so content. “Where will we go?” he murmured before starting another one.

Derek shrugged, his own arms going around Stiles' waist to drag him closer. “Who cares?” he whispered, starting another kiss. “New York maybe? Or California? Didn't you say something about Isaac wanting to meet Scott's mom?”

“Yeah,” Stiles answered, pulling away so he could look at Derek. The older male arched an eyebrow, as if it shouldn't be completely surprising that he actually listened to Stiles talk. Which was surprising, really, because he rambled _a lot_. He leaned in, stole another quick kiss, and grinned. “You can meet my dad too.”

Because yeah...it had only been a handful of days, but he loved Derek, he really did. He'd never been in love before. Infatuated, lustful, yes. But this? This was brand new and scary and risky but _real_. And he wanted to show Derek Hale off to the world. To his dad and the woman who basically raised him. To everyone.

Derek smiled, then he was kissing him again, hands feeling like they were everywhere, pressing against his lower back, pulling him even closer. Suddenly, the entire ship shook, vibrations flowing through the wood, the sound of screeching metal filling the air. The lurch sent them both off their feet, Stiles hitting the ground first, arms still wrapped around Derek's neck causing the older male to go down just as hard. Derek's hands shot out, keeping him from completely planting against Stiles' face, confusion twisting his eyebrows together.

“What the hell was that?” Stiles asked, his voice coming out a bit whiny but he figured that was okay given the pain that was sprouting from the back of his head. The ship was still shuddering, aftershocks moving through the entire thing as Derek lifted himself off of Stiles and onto his knees. “Icebergs,” he muttered, looking over at the large chunks that littered the water.

Stiles pushed himself up on his elbows, his gaze following the other male's. “Did we hit one?” he wondered, and Derek only shrugged as he climbed to his feet, focus still on the water but reaching a hand down to help pull Stiles up as well.

He went easily, pressing himself into Derek's side to stay steady as the ship slowly began to stop shaking. Derek gestured vaguely, pulling Stiles' attention to the large piece of ice still scraping the edge of the boat, chunks falling off onto the deck. It was impressive, beautiful and innocent looking for something that could sink ships. But not Titanic right? Titanic was unsinkable...

“Damn,” he muttered, hand sliding down to wrap around Derek's. Above them the first class cabins began to light up, one after the other, general chatter filling the air. Derek's brows were ceasing together again before he started walking to the front end of the ship, dragging Stiles along with him.

Only a handful of people had ventured out of their rooms, mostly men, the occasional women wrapping coats around themselves. He could gather from their curious, worried expressions that they were asking the crewmen what had happened...but what was bothering him more was the bullshit faces the crew were wearing. The same kind he'd seen his father wear when something was wrong but the general public didn't need to know.

“Stiles!” he twisted around just to see Scott and Isaac, both boys were barefoot even though it was freezing, hands shoved deep in their pockets and confusion on their faces. Scott was wrapped up in Isaac's scarf, a fact which Stiles would have normally teased them about if they didn't look as worried as he felt. Isaac whistled as he gazed over the ice covering the deck. “Did we hit something?”

“Think so,” Stiles answered, feeling Derek's fingers tighten around his. The older male's attention was focused on the upper deck, and Stiles spared him a glance for only a moment before turning back to his friends and nodding towards their bare feet. “What are you two doing up here?”

“The vibrations woke us up,” Scott answered, wiggling a little closer to Isaac than he usually dared to get, out of worry or searching for heat Stiles wasn't really sure. “Isaac rolled out of bed and the floor was covered in like an inch of water. Freezing, by the way.”

Stiles arched an eyebrow, looking at Derek again before finally noticing what had caught the older male's attention. He only recognized the captain of the ship thanks to his uniform, but Chris Argent he would know anywhere. “I'll be right back.”

He started to pull his hand away but Stiles tightened his grip, shot a _'I'm going with him'_ glance towards his friends, and followed Derek. They didn't climb up the stairs, instead stopped at the bottom, heads tilted down. Stiles could tell from the way Derek's back was tensed that he was listening.

“What was that?” Chris was asking, whispering through clinched teeth mostly. He and the captain were huddled close together, shooting looks at the growing crowd and trying their best to look nonchalant. Neither were succeeding.

“Iceberg,” the captain replied. “She hit. They put the doors up but I'm afraid that it's already filled the first five compartments. What do you need us to do, Argent?”

The pause worried Stiles more than anything else that had happened. Derek ran a hand over the back of his neck before subtly turning around. Chris Argent stopped on the last step down before following the captain, their eyes locking. Neither of them said a word, but eventually Chris gave a nod, and Derek cursed as the man disappeared.

“What?” Stiles asked, slipping around Derek's form to look up at him. “Can it sink us? I mean, I know icebergs do that, but...Titanic can't sink, right? That's the whole point?”

The look Derek was giving him was about to break his heart. “She can sink...she's made out of iron. Chris' system was the doors, a kind of cheat system to holding water but...after the first five rooms are filled...she'll go down. Nose first.” 

He didn't give Stiles a moment to process that, argue it, to come up with any response at all. He moved a hand to the back of Stiles' neck and jerked him into a kiss instead, deep and passionate, the kind that made his knees weak and his heart ache. “Find Scott and Isaac, warn them. I've got to get to my sister. And then I'll find you, okay? At our spot.”

Stiles nodded and Derek leaned in for one more kiss before he took off up the stairs, two at a time. Stiles cursed under his breath, running both hands through his hair before he turned in the opposite direction. Everyone was awake now, but first class obviously wasn't bothered enough to deal with any of it. He could hear the classical music start up, even from down here.

“What's going on?” Isaac asked the moment Stiles was back to them, a protective arm draped over Scott's shoulder. He looked worried, more worried than Stiles expected him to. His confusion must have shown on his face though, because he nodded towards the source of his own thoughts.

Stiles looked back over his shoulder just in time to see the last gates be pulled together in front of the third class cabins. They were locking everyone in...everyone but first class, because of course they got to go first. Of course their lives were more important than anyone else.

He looked at Isaac again and shook his head slowly, running his tongue over his lips before he let out a sigh. “The ship is sinking.”

 

 **“Derek?”** Cora's eyes snapped open without a moment of hesitation, going wide as she threw off her blankets, waiting for him to tell her what was wrong. She'd only been eight at the time of the fire...she hadn't seen it, hadn't been there, but the nightmares alone were enough to program her to waking up like this. “What's going on?”

“I just need you to get up, okay?” he answered, trying not to sound too panicked as he took her hand and helped her out of bed. She wore a flannel nightgown, thick leggings on underneath. He'd never been so thankful that she was a cold sleeper.

Derek found her winter boots in the corner of the room, handing them to her before he grabbed her jacket. He helped her into it like she was a child again, pushed a hat over her head, handed her gloves and a scarf.

She was watching him with worried brown eyes slowly glazing over with tears. She didn't even know what was wrong yet, she was just feeding off of his fear and he knew it. Derek sighed softly, squatting down in front of her. “I need you to be brave for me tonight, Cora. Can you do that?”

Cora nodded, holding back a sob and taking a deep breath. The way he'd taught her to stop crying a long time ago. He almost forgot how strong she was. He tried his best to smile at her before he stood up, wrapping his hand around hers—so small and fragile—before pulling her out of the bedroom.

He stopped when he saw Kate. She either hadn't been there when he'd first entered the suite, or she hadn't wanted to be seen, either was a possibility. She was still dressed from dinner, in a gorgeous blood red gown, her legs crossed, cigarette between her fingers.

He noticed Stiles' things immediately, strewn out around her. Pens and pencils that he'd gathered up with abandon, a kit that had been torn to pieces, but most importantly the portfolio that was resting on her lap. She had a page lifted, caught between two sharp nails, and he knew without a doubt just what picture it was.

“Something bad has happened,” he muttered, because it wasn't in him to just leave her there....after everything, he couldn't walk away, even if she deserved it. Still, his arm went around Cora's slim body, slowly pushing her behind him. He couldn't see the look on her face, the doubtless confusion that was there, but he could see the look on Kate's face...The one he knew so well.

“Indeed it has,” she answered behind a ring of smoke. She tapped on the end of the cigarette for a moment before setting it aside in an ashtray, slowly standing up. She dropped the portfolio on the ground. All he could see in the dim lighting was blue. His free hand went up momentarily, pressing against the diamond still sitting against his chest.

He was used to her slaps by now, he saw it coming and still didn't jerk away, but Cora did. She whimpered behind him, no doubt a tear or two getting loose. As far as Kate was concerned, the girl wasn't even there. She leaned in closer, threatening finger pointed at his face. “Cock slut.”

The double doors were wrenched open suddenly, lights flashing on as maids helped themselves into the room. “We've been told to advice you all to put your life coats on and dress warmly. It's a bit nippy out there...” The maid speaking stopped, taking in the tense air and obviously misreading it. “Not to worry, I'm sure it's just a precaution.”

Neither of them moved for the longest time, Kate's eyes glued on his, narrowed and angry. He could practically see the flames dancing in her iris'. Finally, she scoffed, pushing past him as roughly as she could manage, leaving the room. One of the maids took off after her,with a chorus of _'miss'_ and _'please put on your life coat'_.

Derek shook his head and took a life coat from one of the maids when it was offered, twisting around to help Cora into her's. Her eyes were red, but only one tear had escaped so far. “Don't cry,” he muttered. “It's too cold to cry.” She nodded as he placed the white coat over her head, tying it tightly on both of her sides.

By the time they made it back onto the deck, life boats were being pulled apart. There were lines of people, first class, officers keeping the peace that Derek highly doubted would last. “Women and children only please!” they were calling. “Women and children only!”

He tightened his grip on Cora's hand.

 

 **Stiles** tilted his head back on his shoulders, watching the three red lights that shot across the sky, frowning as they faded away. People were starting to get it now, there was yelling coming from third class, anxious murmurs among middle class, disinterest in the first class as they waited. “Fireworks?” Scott asked from beside him, confused brown eyes looking up at the sky too.

“Flares,” Isaac explained, pulling Scott closer into his side. The boy was still shivering, but Stiles was feeling too nervous to be cold anymore. He glanced at the group of first class women and children, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

Finally, he pushed himself up, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep them still. “I have to find Derek,” he explained, eyes still searching the crowd, picking out the few men there. “You two stay together, alright? No matter what. I'll find you.” He waited until they nodded before he left, but he knew they wouldn't separate anyway.

He jogged across the deck, darting through the masses of people, elbowing when he needed to. The panic was starting to settle in, the closer he got to the lifeboats the thicker it was. Finally, he caught sight of who he was looking for. Derek's eyes were closed tightly, his lips pressed against Cora's forehead, physically lifting her into a lifeboat. She wasn't crying, but her little firsts were clinched into his shirt, holding on tightly.

By the time he made it to Derek's side, he noticed Erica Reyes, hands on Cora's hips and guiding her into the boat next to her. She and Derek shared a nod, some kind of unspoken truce, before Derek's hand found his. 

The panic he'd felt earlier suddenly intensified in waves as they were pushed back, men forcing the crowd apart to help their women and children into a boat, arguing over who was there first. He couldn't see where they were going, just that Derek was helping push them away, farther and father from Cora.

The first gunshot sent a wave of panic and shock through him, and Derek had both of his hands in an instant, holding onto him tightly and refusing to let him go. “Miss! Miss you have to hurry! Please!” The frantic call caught his attention for only a moment, pulling his focus onto an officer that was trying to rip a woman from a man.

A double take revealed red locks that he knew well. Lydia Martin-Whittemore was holding onto her husband for dear life, both feet planted in a lifeboat but arms tightly around Jackson's neck, knuckles twisted into the thin hairs there.

“Go on,” Jackson pressed, trying his best not to fall into the boat with her, one hand behind his neck to force her grip apart. Her face was buried, shoulders heaving with sobs, head shaking quickly. She tried more than once to step out of the boat, but someone was grabbing her feet and keeping her there.

“No!” her scream was loud, piercing, but Jackson didn't even flinch. His entire body shook, but Stiles was sure it wasn't from the scream, but pain a little deeper than that. “Not without you,” she was saying, over and over again, more demanding each time. “Not without you!”

“Lydia...” Jackson cursed under his breath suddenly and wrapped his arms around her tightly, holding onto her as strongly as she was holding onto him. “I'll catch the next one, alright? Don't you worry about me. There's a boat on the other end of the ship for the men, okay? I'll see you soon.”

Stiles couldn't take it anymore, it hurt way too much. He shook one of Derek's hands out of his, stepping up to the couple. “Lydia,” she looked up when she heard his voice, and he ducked his head just enough to make sure she could see his eyes. “I'll make sure Jackson is on it, alright?”

The redhead stared at him, make-up running down her face, beautiful green eyes coated in strained red. Her eyes flashed to Derek next, and Stiles knew he nodded by the way the grip on his hand tightened. Finally, she nodded too, and then she jumped Jackson one more time. Their lips sealed together in a kind of kiss Stiles had to look away because it felt too private, too personal, and then the officer grabbed her around the waist and threw her into the boat.

They started lowering it down the moment she was in, and suddenly she wasn't crying, she was just looking up at Jackson until their gazes couldn't be locked anymore, until the boat was rolling away from the ship. 

There was a brief moment of silence where Jackson caught his gaze and nodded once before Derek tugged on his hand, pushing them out of the crowd. There were so many people now, everywhere, every class. Officers were physically restraining people, the third class were fighting against what was left of the first, children were crying and men were yelling. “Women and Children only! Women and Children only!”

When they were finally free of the pit, Stiles went to walk right back where he and Scott and Isaac had just been sitting, but the couple was gone. His brows knit together the same way Derek's always seemed to be, and he found himself twisting in place.

“What?” Derek asked, trying to hold him still, but Stiles felt a new kind of panic start up his body. He had told them not to separate, to stay there, where were they...? “Stiles!”

“Scott,” Stiles murmured, twisting another way. “And Isaac they're not...they're not...” But Isaac was a giant, towering over everyone. He saw blonde curls first, broad shoulders, the shorter male standing next to him with his mop of messy brown hair.

Relief flooded him before he took in the entire scene. Isaac was yelling, trying to push past an officer half his size but twice his width. The man looked frazzled, banishing a gun in Isaac's face. He knew Isaac well enough to know that he wasn't impressed, but something didn't feel right...

Stiles jerked his hand out of Derek's, turning on his heels and taking off running. The shot shattered through his ears, pulling his entire body up short. For a moment he wasn't sure what happened, just that he couldn't hear anything, couldn't see anything but Isaac slowly crumpling towards the ground. When life snapped back to him, it was only to see the crowd darting away from that one area, only to hear Scott's scream.

That sound was worse than anything, like a dagger through his heart, pain so sharp his knees literally gave up on him. Derek's arms went around his body, trying to keep him in place, trying to hold him together. Maybe Stiles was screaming too, he was crying at least...he could feel something hot hitting his cheeks. He elbowed his way out of Derek's grasp, running the last few feet he had before sliding down on the wood next to his best friend.

Scott was choking harshly on his sobs, stroking Isaac's curls back with his shaking fingers, pulling his boyfriend's head onto his knees. In the back of his mind Stiles realized a gun was dropping on the deck, and officer was stumbling away until his knees hit rails and he literally toppled over. Somewhere, he realized Derek was behind him, hands on his shoulders, but none of it mattered.

Nothing mattered except for Isaac's bright blue eyes that were slowly fading, nothing mattered except the hand loosely wrapped around Scott's wrist, nothing mattered but the fact that Scott was trying to put pressure on the blood soaked area of Isaac's stomach...trying to hold onto him for just a little while longer. The older boy smiled, a movement which looked much too painful for something that was meant for happy occasions. “I...love...you.”

Scott only sobbed harder, trying to draw in air through his lungs but it was proving much too difficult. “I-I-I love you t-too,” he finally managed, a new wave of tears starting up when Isaac winced, letting his eyes close, pulling in a deep shuttering breath.

“Stiles...”

Stiles leaned across Isaac's body, wrapping his hand around Isaac's own that was splayed across the deck. He felt the older male's fingers wrap loosely around his own. “I know,” he whispered. “I know.” His own tears were flowing slowly, silently compared to Scott's sobbing that was only getting worse. The ache in his chest was going to kill him. “You're the best brother I've ever had, man.”

Isaac's lips curled into a smile one last time, but Stiles didn't let his hand go. He didn't let go until Isaac's chest stopped moving, until long fingers were no longer wrapped around his own. He chocked back a sob, his body curling in on itself slowly. Scott fell forward, letting his forehead rest against blonde curls.

Fingers dug into Stiles' shoulders, bringing him back to the real world finally. He tilted his head up to see Derek looking down at him, his pain mirrored in those emerald green eyes. He sniffled, lifting his arm up to wipe his face in the crook of his elbow, before pushing himself onto his knees. “Come on, Scott,” he whispered, placing a hand on the back of his friend's neck.

Scott shook his head, his hands wrapping around Isaac's shoulders, fingers digging into the cotton of his shirt. One hand was still stained in blood, something that he would never forget. Stiles knew how this was going to end...but he couldn't stop himself from trying. “Scott,” his voice cut out weakly. “Come on.”

“I can't.” Scott finally managed words, but they came out rough, scraping against his throat from sobs that were slowing, but that was only making it worse somehow. “I-I can't! I-I p-promised him! I promised him....I promised I'd never leave him. Never.”

Stiles reached up slowly to the hands still wrapped around his own shoulders, clenching to them tightly. He knew it would end this way, he'd known all along, but it didn't stop from hurting. How could a man survive this much pain inside of them? “Scott...” he tried again, but he knew it was useless, he knew it wasn't going to work. He chocked back new tears and nodded. “I love you, buddy.”

Scott pulled his head up slowly, once chocolate brown eyes covered in only red, the heartbreak clear on his face. He nodded once, then leaned over and wrapped his arms tight around Stiles' frame. Stiles was suddenly reminded of the way Jackson had hugged Lydia...it was the last time. It was a _you mean everything to me_ hug.

It seemed to last forever, and yet Stiles knew it would never be long enough, because when Scott did finally pull away...there was just more pain, just more empty pieces. Scott wiped both of his eyes with the back of his hands before he gently lifted Isaac's head, resting him against the wood, half crawling over his body to wrap his shaking hands around the gun sitting just a foot away from them.

Stiles choked, and the hands on his shoulders suddenly became demanding, pulling him up. He fought Derek only once, shoving himself back into Scott's arms one more time before he climbed to his feet, seeking out the only thing he had left.

Derek's arm went under him, steadying him, anchoring him, before he drug him away from Scott. He kept his eyes on his best friend for as long as he could, watched him caress Isaac's face, watch his grip on the gun slowly become steadier...and then he couldn't look anymore.

 

 **Derek** couldn't think about it. Couldn't allow himself to. Couldn't bring himself to feel anything because he had to be there for Stiles...because Stiles was his to take care of. So he pulled him away. They made it halfway up the stairs to the first class deck before they heard the gunshot. Stiles caved in on himself immediately, arms going around his stomach, shoulders shaking.

“Come on,” Derek urged, helping Stiles back up, forcing him to take one step after another. “Come on Stiles, we gotta keep moving. We gotta do this.” Part of him was wondering what the point was...they would die anyway. He had half the mind to go back to Scott, pick up that gun and let them go out together. It was tragic, like something Shakespeare would have written, but it was easier.

Then he was reminded of a smiling seventeen year old boy, talking him down from the back of a ship, and he couldn't bring himself to do it. So he kept a grip on Stiles, kept walking him up the stairs. When they finally made it to the top, the younger male twisted around in his arms, sinking his fingers in Derek's hair and pulling him down for a kiss.

Derek let him, it was hot and heavy and passionate, tasting like heartbreak, salt, and tears. But Derek let him have it, let him pull away every breath he needed, let him bury every feeling he had to. Because this Derek understood. The pain of losing everyone you hold dear, everyone you love...Derek knew Stiles just needed something to feel _real_.

When Stiles finally let him go, neither of them were breathing right, pulling in breaths that were too shaky and too needy. His eyes stayed locked with amber ones until Stiles finally gave a nod, pulling his fingers free from his hair and grasping his hand instead. “Where are we going?”

“We need life coats,” Derek answered, trying to pull together a plan in his mind. There weren't enough boats, he knew that. There were barely enough for the amounts of women and children, much less the men. Especially not third class men.

His fingers tightened around Stiles' again as he crossed the deck, knowing fairly well there were still two coats in his room. What they would do after that he still wasn't completely sure...but it seemed like things needed to be decided one step at a time.

Derek drew up short when they passed by the dining hall, he could still hear music playing from inside. Stiles glanced at him, all glassy amber eyes and red cheeks from crying, before they both leaned over to press the door opens.

They didn't go in very far, just enough to lean over the balcony, and Derek was surprised by...just how many people were there. Mostly men, sitting in their nice chairs and drinking brandy and sharing cigars. Their backs were stiff though, faces drawn. They knew exactly what they were doing.

“Look,” Stiles mumbled beside him, nodding to a third class family sitting around a basket of fresh bread that the mother was handing to her children. She was smiling, trying to convince them that everything was fine. “Funny how we're all just people when we're all going to die.”

Derek swallowed thickly, tightening his grip on Stiles' fingers, his eyes still searching the crowd. He stopped when he recognized Danny Mahealani, sitting on the floor by the stairs, Ethan cuddled up into his chest. There was no denying it now...no need to anymore.

“Come on,” he muttered, starting to step backwards, when he noticed a very familiar couple sitting in front of the fireplace. Chris and Victoria Argent. He actually stopped for a moment, staring at the two of them before Chris caught them and raised a drink. He wanted to be angry...he wanted to yell that they should be fighting, doing something, because their daughter was seventeen years old...waiting for her parents to come home. She didn't deserve this.

Stiles saw his hesitation, tugged on his hand until Derek gave him his attention. “Do you want to stay?” the boy asked, looking worried but also...resigned. Like if Derek said yes, they would stay, and they would curl up on the stairs with Danny and Ethan and wait to die. “You jump, I jump, remember?” he muttered, like he was literally reading Derek's mind.

Finally, he shook his head and pulled Stiles out of there. The ship was getting lower, he hadn't really managed to feel it earlier but now he could see it, see how close the line of the water was getting. He'd recognized that fact too soon though, because in the next moment the ship gave a lurch, wood creaking at an impossibly high octave.

Stiles stumbled for a moment, his free hand latching onto Derek's arm to keep himself upright. Derek's eyes were watching the water, looking over the ship at the way the nose was already completely submerged. “We don't have enough time...”

When he looked back at Stiles, those amber eyes he loved so much were as wide as they could possibly be. He looked scared, broken, and every bit the seventeen year old boy that was buried under what life experience had turned him into.

He tightened his hold on Stiles' hand and leaned in, pressing their lips together. For a moment time froze, just the two of them, lips sliding slowly against one another. The creaking of the ship faded into the background, screams and prayers, it was all gone.

When he pulled away Stiles had schooled his expression back into something serious and brave, tightened their grip even more, then turned around and ran. Derek didn't hesitate, taking off right behind him. 

The ship was steadily inclining, chairs and benches and people rolling downwards. Stiles dodged it all, pushing his body faster, his eyes locked on the end of the deck. There was another lurch, one that sent Derek off his feet, but Stiles wrapped a hand around one of the many pillars and balanced, cursing while he tried to hold Derek's weight alone.

Legs flailed, but he eventually caught himself, pulling back onto his feet before he glanced over his shoulder, listening to the metal cry the middle tower gave before the entire thing broke apart from the ship, falling into the ocean with a splash. “She's going to break in half...” Derek mumbled.

“What?!” Stiles looked at him in shock, but Derek shook his head and gave the boy a push before grabbing his hand again. 

“Move,” he growled, pointing at the rails on the end of the ship for their destination. “Keep going okay? All the way back to our spot.” And Stiles nodded, jaw snapping together, before he took off running again. Derek could feel it with each step he took, the way the ship only began to incline farther.

There were people everywhere, fighting it as hard as they were, screaming and crying and the few who tripped and couldn't be saved...Stiles' grip on his hand was cutting off circulation, but there was nothing else more important than that feeling...It meant they were both still alive.

Derek didn't miss a beat, the moment they were where they were supposed to be he ripped his hands out of Stiles' and pushed the boy at the rails, climbing up on them himself. One, two, three, over. By the time he had his back pressed against them, he was looking out at the water...

_“What the hell do you think you're doing?!”_

He looked to his right, catching Stiles' eyes. The boy was breathing hard, hands wrapped tightly around the white rails. He offered Derek a shaky smile, and for a moment they just stared at each other. How ironic that everything would end exactly where it began.

_“I don't know about that man, seems pretty cold.”_

Derek's gaze shifted towards the water, dark black and unforgiving, the cold coming up on them in waves. His grip tightened as he pulled his eyes up just a little, to see the bodies lining the water, the flailing limbs and the ones that just sunk.

“So, how are we doing this?” Stiles asked, another sad smile making its way onto his face. “Count to three or...” he trailed off, and Derek felt his heart lurch in his chest. He reached out and took Stiles' hand in his own, holding on as tight as he could.

“One,” he whispered, twining their fingers together.

Stiles took a deep breath, closing his eyes against the imagine for a moment. “Two.”

Neither of them said three, they just braced their feet and jumped. Stiles hand tightened on his the moment they hit mid air, legs kicking, and then there was nothing but water, splashing in on each side, and he felt Stiles' hand be ripped away from his own. 

It was worse than Derek could have imagined, the cold. Like a thousand million different knives hitting him all at once, tiny pinpricks sinking into his skin with the most pain he could imagine. _“Worse than living on the streets of North Dakota in the winter. You ever been to Grand Forks in the middle of the fucking winter? Shit, talk about cold.”_

He forced his way to the surface, legs kicking frantically, arms pushing at water that he could barely feel anymore through the pain, trying to seek air...trying to find Stiles. He couldn't see anything but water, couldn't taste anything but salt.

“Derek! _Derek!_ ”

“Stiles!” Derek coughed on water and went under again, panic seizing his heart. Stiles, he needed to get to Stiles. He forced his legs to work, moving through the water that was determined to claim him as it's own. His head broke the surface again, then there were hands under his arms. He blinked water off his lashes, relief a temporary warmth as his eyes zeroed in on Stiles' face, brown hair plastered to his forehead, teeth chattering, but alive. There.

“Derek,” Stiles dunked his head slightly, amber eyes catching his own gaze. “I need you to swim.” It was a demand, soft and serious, as Stiles slipped under water a little deeper from trying to keep Derek's weight up. 

Derek tried to kick, frantically, tried to help keep them up, but it wasn't doing them any good. If anything, it was making it worse. “I can't!” he finally answered. “I don't know how!” He'd never had a reason to learn.

Stiles cursed, and then his hands were gone. Derek felt his eyes go wide before he slipped under the icy water again, limbs trashing and cold biting at him every chance it got. He could feel himself being dragged lower, pulled by some unknown force. Then...for a split second...everything was peaceful.

He knew this feeling...understood it. He was drowning, the same way he had been for the past six years. There just simply wasn't anymore air, just pressure in his chest, strong enough that everything was fading away into a cloud of black...the cold was new, it had never been there before, but it felt like a blessing. Soon, everything would be numb...

Everything should have ended this way a long time ago. He should have just given up, allowed himself to drown. But then this stupid kid had shown up. This stupid kid with his little upturned nose, moles scattered across his neck, a grin that could light up the soul he'd never thought he had...

Something caught in his shirt, twisting through the wet cotton before jerking him up. Derek considered fighting it for a moment, staying where he belonged, but before he could make the decision something broke over his head...and then there was air again. Air and salt and pain...but there was Stiles too, muttering under his breath, pulling one of Derek's arms over his shoulder.

They were moving, but it hurt, each new patch of cold water sent a shock through his system, harsh and uncaring. The sound of his teeth chattering was blocking out anything else, but he tried to help. He tried to kick, tried to move in ways that would help Stiles, float even...but it was all so hard...

Derek didn't know why Stiles kept moving...maybe to keep their blood flowing, maybe to keep them from falling into the water for the release it could give them both...but the boy was slowing down, fighting for long moments at a time just to keep his head up. 

Out of nowhere, Stiles started moving faster, and Derek forced his eyes open to see what the boy's goal was...a piece of driftwood maybe...a part of the dock or a door...he didn't know. Stiles slid out from under his arm, pushing him towards it. Getting the idea Derek threw his arms over it, pushing himself onto the wood.

It creaked, seeming for a moment that it would betray him, throw him back to the ocean, but after a moment it stilled. Derek twisted slowly onto his stomach, reaching a hand out to Stiles. The boy shivered, locked his jaw, and took Derek's hand. Stiles tried...he tried to push himself up onto the board, but with even the softest bit of force...it sunk a few inches under.

Stiles winched, backing off, and shook his head when Derek tightened his grip on his hand. He jerked his hand free, folding both arms over the edge of the wood, resting his head on them. His entire body shivered, teeth cracking, a murmur in there somewhere about the 'fucking cold'.

“W-we can s-switch in a m-minute,” Derek muttered, shivering strongly, curling in on himself as much as he could. He kept his eyes on Stiles, on that brown hair that looked so odd plastered to his forehead. Derek didn't like it...he reached out slowly, watched his hand shake as he tried to mess the strands up...to make them stick in different directions like they should.

Stiles shook his head before bringing it up, resting his chin on his arms. He was too pale...his eyes were too brown and not enough amber. Derek hated it. Hated the way the lips he loved so much quivered. “Don't w-worry about it. I-I can swim. I-I'm fine.”

Derek just didn't have the energy to fight him...to argue and demand he get what he wanted. They were there for a long time, just staring at each other, and Stiles seemed to relax the longer there was nothing but the quiet. “S-Stiles,” he finally muttered, having to stop and swallow down against the cold. “I-I just w-want ...you t-to k-know....that I-I-I love y-you too.”

“ **Don't** ,” Stiles' voice came out oddly strong, but it quivered at the end. “D-Don't you _d-dare_ do t-that, Derek Hale. D-Don't you say y-your g-goodbyes.” Stiles closed his eyes for a moment, fingers digging weakly into wood. “W-we're g-going to be o-okay, sourwolf.”

They weren't. Derek knew it, somewhere deep inside of him. Knew it the same way he had known something was wrong when he'd walked home six years ago...knew it in the same way that he had felt curl inside of him when he tried to push Stiles away from loving him. “Stiles...”

“Derek,” Stiles cut him off with that same sharp tone of voice before a shiver coursed through his body, causing the driftwood to shake. The boy cleared his throat, groaned softly, and pushed forward enough to touch their foreheads together. “I-I don't w-want...to f-fight. I...p-please just...t-talk t-to m-me...t-tell m-me a story.”

Derek smiled, fighting off tears that would no doubt just freeze against his face. He moved his hands to lock one over Stiles' wrist, slid the others between his fingers, and closed his eyes. He didn't know any stories...he only knew a few, long lost in the back of his memory with his mother's voice that was beginning to fade.

So he told the one he did know. “O-once u-upon a t-time...t-there was a b-boy who...h-had too much b-but nothing to...o-offer the w-world. H-he...didn't kn-know much about l-life...just t-that he...didn-t w-want to s-spend...it alone. B-but he g-gave his....h-heart to someone w-who...didn't d-deserve it. H-he...didn't know w-what it...really m-meant. Love.”

He felt Stiles smile, a small quirk of lips. “A-and then...one d-day...he g-got on a s-ship...a-and he n-ever expected...t-to meet t-this boy. T-this boy...w-with r-ridiculous brown h-hair and...b-beautiful a-amber brown eyes....T-this boy, w-with h-his heart s-so...full. W-who h-had so little....but e-everything to...o-offer the world.”

Derek didn't know how long he talked, how long he stuttered through words and swallowed against the cold. He didn't know if he was still making sense the more he spoke...he didn't even realize what the whistling was when he first heard it. Thought maybe the sound was coming from inside his ears, a ringing caused by the cold. And then he heard the voices.

“Is anyone alive out there!”

Derek pulled his eyes open slowly, wincing as his lashes pried against his cheeks, held on by thin layers of ice. He blinked into the dark, gaze narrowing on the thin line of light he could see. The water was still...everything in the water was still...except for the boat.

“We are.” Derek tried to scream, but no sound came out at all, just the brushing of air as he tried to force it from his lungs. He swallowed again, but he had no moisture to help his throat. “W-we are!” There was sound that time, but not enough. 

He tried to push himself up a little, the driftwood protesting with a wave of cold water splashing against his body. Derek hissed under his breath, tightening his grip around Stiles' wrist. “S-Stiles,” he muttered, trying to get the boys attention. He was floating peacefully in the water, ice sticking to strands of brown hair, dusting over eyelashes sprayed across pale cheeks, blue lips slightly parted.

“Stiles,” he tried again, pulling his fingers free from the boys grasp. He winced at the feeling, a motion like breaking ice cycles. “S-Stiles.” He was crying, hot tears sliding down his frozen face, before he even knew why. Because Stiles wasn't moving...wasn't answering... “Stiles...S-Stiles...please...”

The tears came harder, and his body shook with something worse than the physical pain...something that hurt too deeply inside his chest. He leaned forward, pressing shaking lips against Stiles' mouth. No response, no air, nothing familiar...just cold. “I-I...love you...”

He said it one more time, one more time because he should have said it so much more, so many times that Stiles would have scoffed at him and rolled his eyes. He would have laughed, he would have teased him for being a sap. _“What's gotten into you, sourwolf?”_

Derek laughed despite himself, a rush of air that made him shiver again. He pulled both hands from Stiles' body slowly, and nudged the boy gently off of the driftwood. He stayed there, he waited until Stiles' face was covered with dark waves, watched until there was nothing else to see. His heart was gone, went down with him, there was nothing but cold stone left...

One hand moved to his chest, clinching around the cool diamond still resting there, and he nearly laughed again, if he'd had the energy. Cold, hard diamond. The Heart of the Ocean. Stiles would have understood the irony. Stiles would have laughed.

“Is anyone alive out there!”


	8. Epilogue

_June 5th, 1990_

Paige Hale could remember the day she met her husband...sitting on the beach, dark curls ruffling in the California breeze. She remembered thinking he must have been an artist or something...he always looked like one. Dark cotton pants, thin white shirts rolled up at the sleeves and rarely ever completely buttoned or tucked in, suspenders down around his thighs. His hair was always a mess, long and dark, scruff always covering his cheeks and neck. His green eyes, bright and beautiful, always seemed so sad...

Something had drawn her to him, so much so that she'd even started taking her cello to the beach to practice, hoping he'd be there. She'd written many songs about him...about what he might be looking for as he stared out over the ocean. He'd be there for weeks at a time, and then disappear for months.

But one thing Paige knew for sure, he was always there in April. Every single day. It was years before she found the courage to go sit next to him. Months after that before he ever spoke to her. More years before they were finally married.

Paige had moved across the country for him...left California for Maryland. The rumors hadn't started until then...The elusive Derek Hale, with all the money in the world but no one to share it with, coming home with a woman half his age. Paige hadn't cared. She'd faced them all with the grace it took to play her instrument.

Derek Hale had blessed her with many things. A home big enough to fill many children with, the opportunities to make her dreams come true, someone to spend her life with. He'd been a strong man all his life, with hard eyes and a mouth that never smiled, but he'd been enough.

Paige loved him, she always had and she was sure that she always would, but she knew deep down that he was never hers...his heart had belonged to someone else from the moment they met. That someone owned his smiles and his laughs and his love...but he had a bigger heart than he allowed himself to think. A heart he'd passed onto his daughter and that he'd allowed his wife to warm temporarily. For everything that they were...Paige wouldn't trade the life she'd been given for the world.

“I only learned later that there were fifteen-hundred people that went into the sea after Titanic sank...” Derek's voice was soft, gravely, and tired. He always sounded tired these days...“There were twenty boats out but only one came back. They saved six people. Six. Out of fifteen-hundred...”

Claudia had tears running down her cheeks, but she never made a sound when she cried, she never had. Even if her face was as blank as her fathers, Paige knew her heart was aching, knew the way only a mother could. There was a long silence as Derek's thumbs moved smoothly over the blue gem clasped in his hands.

The old man shifted slightly, a soft sigh falling from his lips. “I don't remember how long we waited...until the ship arrived to take us in. Seven hundred of us...that was all that was left, saved on the life boats. They took us in, wrapped us in blankets and gave us hot tea, took down names...”

“You gave them 'Hale',” Claudia realized, speaking softly from where she was sitting on the floor in front of him. “Just Hale...no DeWitt.”

Derek looked up at her finally, offered her the softest of smiles, because of course he did. “Derek Hale was who I always wanted to be...a chance to start over, fresh. Derek Hale was the man Stiles fell in love with...and I didn't want to lose him.”

One of his hands moved, fingers sliding across the thin scar on his cheek that hid under gray hairs and wrinkled skin. “Derek Hale was a man Kate Argent couldn't trace...”

There was more silence, a tenseness and a sadness that covered the room even more than it already was. Paige thought about moving then, about deciding they'd had enough, but Claudia spoke again before she got the chance. “What happened to her?”

“To Kate?” Derek asked, leaning back slowly in his old chair, the wood creaking under his back. He took a moment, eyes closed, before he said, “I only saw her one more time, on the balcony overhead, looking out at the water. When the stock market crashed she put a gun in her mouth. Alison Argent inherited everything...opened a home for orphaned children.”

Claudia wiped at her tears slowly, sighing softly before pulling her knees up to her chest. “Aunt Lydia and Aunt Cora...they were there too, right? Lydia Martin-Whittemore...”

Derek nodded slowly. “Lydia took Cora in after the ship sank...they stayed in the States, and Cora developed an eye for fashion and they were always well off. Lydia dropped Martin from her name after Jackson's death...even after she married Aiden...she couldn't bring herself to change it. Aiden lost a brother on the Titanic...I think they were always lonely, without someone who really understood what it was like...”

Derek sighed again, lifting the gem and sliding the chain over his head. It fell against his chest gently, shining on old gray pajamas. “I sold my engagement ring...bought a ticket to California and lived there for a few years. I met John Stilinski and Melissa McCall...I worked in a diner for a little while, and spent my days sitting on the beach...Three years later Peter died and Cora inherited every cent of Hale-DeWitt money...Seven years later and Kate Argent was gone...and then I called your Aunt Cora.”

“It must have been hard...” Claudia mentioned, wiping at her eyes one more time. “Starting over like that...without him...”

“I made a promise that night,” Derek mused, old fingers sliding over the blue gem. “That I wouldn't try to give up again...because no one was around to stop me, to talk me down.” The edges of his lips curved fondly, and Paige felt her heart breaking. “It got easier...after I met your mother...”

Paige finally moved, off of the doorframe that she was leaning on and across the room. Claudia seemed more surprised to see her than Derek did, who actually smiled at her, small as it was. “I think it's time you get some rest, sweetie,” she said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

After a moment, Derek reached a hand up to hers, curling his fingers around her wrist before nodding softly. It took him awhile before he managed to get out of his seat, but he did it. Paige nodded to Claudia before she helped her husband down the stairs, leaving the girl with the rest of the boxes.

It was a slow walk down the long, empty halls before she reached their bedroom. It was just as plain as the rest of their home, except for a dresser that was covered in family photos, showing a full and long life. Paige made sure he was comfortable before she left him alone, running her fingers through his hair and pressing a kiss to his forehead. He was asleep before she ever closed the door to his room, and then Claudia was there, pulling her into a hug.

***

Derek loved the smell of the ocean, the salt in the air and the light breeze pushing his hair back. He smiled to himself as he folded his arms over the rails and closed his eyes for a moment, breathing it all in.

Suddenly there were arms snaking around his body, a face being pressed between his shoulder blades, and the smile on his face only grew. It'd been so long since he'd felt Stiles' touch...heard his voice...but now none of that mattered.

“I feel like all of our important moments happen here,” the boy murmured, his voice coming out soft and muffled before Derek twisted around his grasp, cupping the other male's cheeks and pulling his face up so he could look at him. Finally.

Stiles was just as beautiful as he remembered. Uncontrollable brown hair, freckles and moles scattered across his face, little upturned nose and full lips, bright amber eyes. “I missed you, Sourwolf.”

Derek grinned and leaned down, pressing their lips together, feeling Stiles' arms slide around his neck, fingers tangling in the short hairs at the base of his neck. He'd almost forgotten how Stiles tasted...like salt and citrus and something just him, something that Derek never could place but never stopped craving.

Stiles chuckled softly, pulling away until only their fingers were left twining together, dragging Derek off the back of the ship. He finally pulled his eyes off of the younger male, taking in the surroundings. Seventy-eight years he had been gone...but Titanic looked exactly the same. Time didn't matter, not anymore. They had forever.

He smiled when he saw Isaac, leaning against the wall by the first class landing, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a cigarette up to his mouth. He was smirking, but there was humor in his eyes as he gave Derek a slight wave.

Scott was standing only about a foot from his boyfriend, bouncing on his toes, looking excited as always. “Hurry up you two! We're going to miss dinner!”

Stiles looked back at Derek one more time, squeezing his hand a little tighter before they disappeared up the staircase. For the first time in his life, Derek Hale didn't feel like he was drowning. He was flying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The Ship of Dreams) It Really Was [The Alternate Ending] http://archiveofourown.org/works/1510193/chapters/3190484
> 
> A big thanks to everyone who has read, commented, and just enjoyed. I hope you all had fun with my alternate view to a great love story ^^
> 
>  _CAST_  
>  Stiles Stilinski as Jack Dawson  
> Derek Hale as Rose DeWitt Bukater _(gender swapped)_  
>  Kate Argent as Caledon 'Cal' Hockley _(gender swapped)_  
>  Cora Hale as Ruth Dewitt Bukater _(swapped – younger sister)_  
>  Scott McCall as Fabrizio  
> Isaac Lahey as Tommy Ryan  
> Lydia Martin as herself  
> Jackson Whittemore as himself  
> Chris Argent as Thomas Andrews  
> Victoria Argent as Herself  
> Erica Reyes as Molly Brown _(mentioned)_  
>  Alison Argent as _(mentioned)_  
>  Danny Mahealani as _(mentioned)_  
>  Ethan “ ” as _(mentioned)_  
>  Kira Yukimura as _(mentioned)_  
>  Claudia Hale (OC) as Lizzy Calvert  
> Paige Krasikeva as Herself


End file.
